Which Keeps The Stars Apart
by Clarissa Rose
Summary: We know Carlisle and Esme's story began on a hospital ward when she was sixteen - but what if they met again, before Esme made her way up that cliff? This is their tale through love and loss and those things that defy comprehension. A prequel of sorts.
1. Chapter 1

**_Which Keeps the Stars Apart _**

_Clarissa Rose_

I won't pretend she didn't linger in my mind that first time. It was an extraordinary day, one I never came to fully understand. Until she arrived, and indeed after she left, it was a perfectly normal April week on the ward. Patients were flooding through the door in a constant cycle of injury and sickness, healing when we could, bidding farewell: the most organised kind of chaos. But that morning, a colleague had admitted a young girl who had been in an accident of some description, then he had been pulled away to something or other, thrusting the case on me as he ran down to cardiology with his arms overflowing with papers.

Esme Platt, Ward 9.

Her name and location was all the information I had been granted, so I made my way downstairs. It was the larger children's ward, a steady babble of tears and chatter compounded by the heartbeats and footsteps thudding against my ears. My patient was hidden by two people I presumed to be her parents clustering around her bedside protectively.

"Hello," I said, smoothly interrupting their little huddle. "My name is Dr Cullen and I will be treating you today,"

The girl looked up at me appraisingly, and suddenly I lost every shred of coherent thought.

After so many centuries I believed I had completely desensitised myself to human blood, so when I caught a waft of her sweet, enticing scent I barely recognised the inexorable pull, the lurch of my stomach, the rasp on my throat, the venom glossing over my teeth. Every inch of me had tensed ready to pounce and it was a moment before I could regain my sensibilities: I cut off my breathing immediately.

I froze, fighting the urge to run. I wanted to flee, to claw this disgusting temptation from my insides, but I remained rooted to the spot. My curiosity was stronger. I had to know who this child was, and why she had raised the head of the ugly monster I believed I had slain long ago.

"I'm Esme," she said easily. There was a smile playing at her mouth and a wicked sparkle in her eye which I guessed had probably gotten her into trouble to begin with. Once I had calmed down a little I took a moment to look at her properly. She was very pretty, making her way through her mid teens without any of the usual gangly limbed acne ridden curses endured by most; rather she gave an odd impression of grace, even just lying there with her skirt ripped and muddy and her leg at an odd angle.

There was a garish streak of blood trickling down her face from a gash on the top of her head and most of her cheek was smudged red from where she had tried to wipe it off.

"What am I dealing with then?" I asked, tearing my eyes away and rolling up my sleeves, pulling a tray of swabs and instruments towards me to clean off the cut on her forehead.

"I fell-" she began, but her mother could not contain herself to merely observing it seemed.

"She fell out a tree," she snapped. I was as amused as she was furious, wondering how a girl of sixteen had managed that one. I carefully mopped off the congealing blood, satisfied when Esme didn't wince.

"And what on earth were you doing up there?" I asked, removing a piece of gravel with a pair of tweezers. I was biting my tongue so hard it should have come straight off, but I didn't let myself slip a lungful of air. She glanced imperceptibly up at her parents and I felt her heart rate quicken a little.

"Maybe later," I murmured to her. I had cleaned the cut off, leaving me with a neat pile of tissues all stained with rosy blooms of her blood, and it covered my fingertips in vivid red spots.

For a moment, the tiniest flicker of a moment, I felt to urge to lick them clean, suck every drop of her off my nails and into me, sating a gloriously long held craving, the seductive flavour of her mingling with the tang of the venom coating my tongue and it - no. No, stop.

Hastily I wiped my hands on my trousers and took a few paces back. What on God's earth had come over me? The last hint of - of - of _that_ had faded to nothing a century ago, yet my body was acting as if those years had never happened. For a moment my eyes glimmered as the enroaching circle of black around my irises crept in, and I felt pheromones swirling around me like mist.

I began attending to her leg, but my mind was on other things, panicky trains of thought running off in all kinds of unpleasant directions. I could not stop myself noticing the rosy blush on her cheeks, the way her deep brown eyes flickered over everything, the lily white curve of her neck, the soft inflection in her voice when she asked about what I was doing. This was . . . not good.

She was the most real, the most vivacious, the most deeply human human I had ever met. And she was sixteen.

I hurried, strapping up her leg precisely, jotting down prescription painkillers and making my excuses, trotting down the ward with my hands in my pockets. Once I was out of sight I stopped, leant back against a wall and groaned.

Without thinking, I raised my fingers to my nose; there were flecks of her blood trapped underneath my fingernails. I inhaled deeply, entertaining the wondrous scent - it was almost floral, but there was honey and cinnamon and something sharper in there too, but it was also none of these things, it was utterly unlike anything I had ever smelled before. My index finger caught on my bottom lip. I - no - I ripped it away and went to scrub my hands off thoroughly, eliminate her presence with disinfectant. But after that, I went down to the basement, where the supplies were kept.

Paranoia began to manifest. I had not slipped, had not approached slipping, but I could smell it, it was there, I was . . . this could not be happening. But it was and I didn't know why. We had a fridge of blood down there, all four types, neatly labelled. I had not been able to scent anything for generations. Nerves built up into unreserved terror as I reached the door. This could be the end of life as I knew it, everything I had worked for, the centuries of self restraint. If my nature had chosen to reassert itself I had to know.

I had to get to Italy before I did anyone harm.

I unlocked the store room and hesitated. Rows of IV bags were organised along the shelves full of blood. If I were normal - normal for my kind- I would have been half crazed by now, hurtling upstairs with dripping teeth and flashing scarlet eyes, ready to rip apart anyone who stumbled across my path.

Nothing happened.

I sucked in a breath, deliberately flooding my senses. I caught the mild coppery hint which blood carried for everyone, dust, cleaning fluid, the perfume of some of the nurses. Nothing else. I bowed my head, both entirely grateful but somewhat nauseated at myself.

How had Esme Platt led me to slip, to teeter on the edge of the precipice I had spent so many years running from?

{-}

I knew it was a bad idea from the beginning, but the possibility remained that it was not, and that was the possibility I was entertaining that night. It seemed like fate when I checked at the desk, the new overnight admissions. It seemed like fate when she was sitting up in bed, waiting, eyes gleaming in the half light amongst the rows of sleeping children. She seemed, wholly unsurprised and composed when I returned to her bedside, despite the hour.

"Dr Cullen," she breathed.

I sniffed cautiously. It was still there; her scent was still dancing through the air and cloying at my throat which was suddenly excruciatingly parched. I was not sure how to proceed so I just sat down in the wheelchair she had been using which was lying abandoned by the bedside. I noticed a spot of blood on her nightgown and shivered slightly.

Esme seemed politely bemused, looking up at me patiently, and all I could do was lick my dry lips uncertainly.

"What were you doing up that tree then?" I asked quietly, for lack of anything more articulate and a need to fill the gaping chasm of silence between us.

She broke my gaze for the first time, twisting the corner of the sheets in her hands. Her slight fingers playing through the fabric was uncomfortably alluring, and I felt venom saturating my mouth.

"Just reading." She said simply, after a long pause. She was so dainty, even after her ordeal. Somehow among the tangled hair and blossoming bruises she retained a delicate, fresh faced charm I would be at a loss to define.

I gestured for her to continue, trying to keep her talking so I could watch out for an epiphany of some description. There had to be something to this girl beyond what I could see, that or else I was truly going mad.

"I was trying to avoid my parents. Their lifelong ambition is to marry me off properly, I can't go a week without some prospective suitor being introduced, and they had a particularly repulsive specimen they wanted me to meet today."

There was a smile in her voice, the slightest hint of triumph. I imagined with the cast engulfing her leg these little rendezvous would be happening somewhat less frequently.

"So you don't want to get married?" I asked, cocking my head. This was decidedly unusual for her age, but she _was_ decidedly unusual. Esme shook her head.

"Not particularly. And certainly not just for the sake of it."

"Admirable." I murmured. "So what do you want to do then?"

I had run out of air to form words, I chanced a quick gulp and the smell was dizzyingly strong. I gripped the seat of the chair hard, leaving fingerprints in the metal.

"I'd like to be a teacher." She said firmly, daring me to contradict her. As if I would.

"And I would assume your parents are somewhat opposed to that idea,"

The ward was shadowy and still, but with my crystal vision I could make out a slow nod, the flash of her eyes, the curl of her bitter smile. She was little more than a silhouette in shades of grey, but the scent almost had a colour of its own. It was deepest scarlet, biting at my skin, pulling me forwards, burning on my throat for the first time in centuries.

The pain intrigued me more than it hurt. I lent in slightly, it intensified and my stomach churned with starvation. Vague half dreams of blood slicking down my throat teased me and I imagined my teeth at her elegant neck, staining it and sucking it dry, desiccating her - all hypothetical, theoretical, purest conjecture and most horrifying. But I could not help but wonder.

I realised the thoughts my mind had been wandering down and almost retched at my own lack of control. I stood to leave, but Esme looked disappointed her night time companion was abandoning her so swiftly.

"I have to go now Esme," I said softly, so as not to wake the others, lying sick and injured in alphabetised rows.

"Goodbye Dr Cullen,"

Her voice was maddeningly lovely.

"Goodbye."

There was a breeze and I found myself choking on her, coughing roughly. But I could not abandon her, looking so forlorn and alone in the world.

"Follow your dream Esme." I whispered with the last of my air as I turned to go. "Life is too short to live someone else's."

I carried the expression on her face for a long time afterwards. It fed my soul, warmed my fingers on a cold day. Simple, innocent wonder followed by absolute determination. And over the years I caught myself pondering, rather too often, whatever became of that girl.

I never dreamed fate would throw me another chance.

_**A/N **Stephenie Meyer's, not mine etcetera etcetera. Title from a lovely E.E Cummings poem, "I Carry Your Heart With Me." This was very much the result of a lost word war with a writerly friend, but I thought maybe someone else would be interested too._

_Please review! I cherish feedback like you cherish Edward/Jacob/fictional-crush-of-choice. Just a quick note would be lovely!_

_(Also, this story is growing in my head, no matter how much I try to ignore it, and though I make no promises, more is a possibility.)_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Which Keeps the Stars Apart_**

_Clarissa Rose_

Ten years passed. In many ways that seems like a blink - when you have eternity a decade is nothing more than another home, another hospital, another set of faces which all tend to blur into one after a while. But in other ways, it felt like a tremendously long time.

Seven years after I left Esme in the ward to whatever fate life would concoct for her, I was in Illinois. The influenza epidemic was gushing through Chicago, sweeping up so many souls in its path that it felt like the city itself was sick, wracked with coughs and death rattles. I worked through every night and every day, throwing caution to the winds with regards to my disguise. No one was in a fit state to notice anyway.

Although I felt hundreds of men, women and children breathe their last underneath my hands, Elizabeth Masen caught me as midnight chimed at the end of a long week. The wards were overflowing with people dying loudly and with those who had already succumbed, sometimes with a bloodied sheet thrown over them, often not.

I listened to her feverish whispers; delirium mixed in with pleading sobs and found myself caught up with the sheer hopelessness of the situation. No matter how many hours I toiled, desperately trying to keep my patients alive, they were too fragile, too human. They had all been condemned before I had laid eyes on them, let alone made vain efforts at treatment. We had run atrociously low on morphine and other drugs, with all our fancy degrees the best we could do was sponge the victims down and try to avoid their eyes.

Elizabeth interrupted my bleak, meandering thoughts, all of a sudden I felt her bony hand gripping my wrist tight in a flash of fire – she was burning up and burning out. Tears were cascading down her face as she begged for the one thing I couldn't give her in a gasping moment of lucidity.

"Please Dr Cullen . . . my Edward . . . save him . . ."

I placed my other hand over hers, trying to dredge up some soothing way to tell her what she already knew.

"Mrs Masen, your husband died three days ago."

I tried to be gentle, tried to be soft. She probably couldn't hear me over the cacophony in the ward anyway – the hospital had been overrun, procedures and hygiene routines cast aside as people staggered in to lie among the corpses and cry out for help. But the doctors were falling faster than anyone.

"No." She rasped. "No, my son, my boy-"

I frowned. In the confusion I had not been aware she had a child with her, no one was keeping records any more.

"I'm sorry?"

"Edward . . . Dr Cullen you can save him . . ."

I bowed my head, looking at her hand again. The wedding ring was just as unbearable as her gaunt sweaty face, encasing wild bloodshot eyes rolling around in their sockets. Echoes of beauty still lingered, but long lost in the shadow of sickness.

"I can try." I promised, pushing her hair back from her face, letting my cool hands linger to provide some short respite.

"No, Dr Cullen, you can, only you . . ."

She was fading fast now.

"Promise me!" she said hoarsely. The clarity she spoke with was uncommon at this stage and her command was rather startling.

"I will." I said in a low voice. I would have promised anything to relieve her pain.

"No, you don't understand . . . Dr Cullen . . . do it, please . . ."

Her breathing was shaky and she had begun the rapid descent which was now far too familiar, but she was staring at me urgently, willing me to understand. I clasped her hand in my icy cold ones and began to mutter a prayer.

And suddenly it came like a lightning bolt of sheer impossibility: I realised what she wanted me to do.

It must have dawned in my eyes, because she smiled the ghost of a sad smile and allowed the tension to drain from her body like water. I waited for her hand to go limp in mine before scrambling to my feet in horror.

Edward Masen was lying unconscious in the next room.

{-}

I do not wish to linger, but I shall impress the impossibility of a decision I had but a moment to make. I knew in my heart I had no right to take this boy's peace from him. I knew creating more like me was one of the most evil things I could do on this earth. But influenza had taken me as a victim of sorts too, I was nearly out of my mind. Not that anything excuses my actions, but a dying woman's words had given me permission to do something I had been fighting the urge to do for decades and I could not resist it in the way I resisted blood.

Honour was harder for me to ignore.

It was a horrifying deed, and unforgivably cruel in its execution. I had no idea regarding the science of the act, the necessary procedure – how much venom would be too much, how much not enough?

His hair was an identical shade of bronze to his mother's, and he carried her features which made it easier for me to pick him out. Edward was slumped against the wall in a dark corner of the ward having lost consciousness some indeterminable amount of time ago. I hurried towards him and crouched on the floor, stretching out a hand to feel his pulse which was fluttering weakly. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth in some spiteful charade. His breathing was laboured and he was dripping with sweat, I would give him maybe hours left and none of them awake.

Sometimes as a doctor you have to make hard decisions, but never had I ever had so much resting on my verdict.

It was not a time for precision, I heard his fading heartbeat throbbing above the pandemonium raging about me. I did not give doubt the chance to flash through my mind. A swift bite at his clammy neck, a spatter of venom shot into his artery, and . . .

I can't describe it. I won't.

The ecstasy trembling through my body as I stole the boy's eternity. The glimpse at the life I could have had.

It should have drawn a curious eye, a senior doctor sprinting through the corridors with a teenage boy in his arms, howling and shuddering as spasms of agony wracked through his body, writhing and sobbing and begging for mercy.

Perhaps it was a sign of the times that I didn't get a second glance my entire way home.

{-}

We moved to a little cottage in middle of nowhere for a while. It became "we" very quickly. I abandoned my patients and became Edward's tutor instead, showing him how I lived. It took a good year to manage his bloodlust, it was difficult but he was desperate to learn. Edward tortured himself after every slip and ran his own endurance to the ground, upset whenever he felt the yearning for human blood but more upset whenever I tried to tell him it was okay.

The very idea that it was okay, it was something I had accepted, was abhorrent to him in all his innocence.

Night after night, I grappled with my own conscience. I had snatched away his chance at peace without a chance to ask even for a fleeting moment whether he wanted to stay, lingering like a shadow on this earth. It plagued me for some time, but whenever I began to wonder, whenever I began to pray, he would catch me. At first he would come over silently, watch me with his eyes still stained with fierce red, before grabbing my hand and thanking me sincerely for pulling him from the jaws of death, for being strong enough to resist the taste of his blood, for giving him a second chance which most would kill for. I knew he was lying, and he never corrected my assumptions, but it kept me from wallowing if nothing else.

It was an interesting experience having to adapt to living with someone who heard everything which flitted across one's mind. At first it drove him to tears then screaming frustration, clawing at the walls with wild, desperate eyes like a caged animal: he explained to me later, he just wanted his mind to himself for a moment. He wanted simplicity back. After many months of practise he had managed to localise his ability slightly, so the thoughts of the faraway villages would not keep him pacing the house restlessly with his hands over his ears.

He was learning. We were learning how to coexist.

It was hard trying to pitch it right. I wanted a family, and the fatherly parallels were irresistible, but the last thing I wanted to do was force myself on the boy when he was still grieving his own parents. It was a balance I think I struck, but it was hard to tell. He didn't talk very much at first.

But for all this, if I may speak purely selfishly, Edward had filled a hole I was not aware existed. He had assuaged my loneliness. Though I felt guilty even thinking it, knowing he could hear every word, I was glad for the company. Someone to love, someone to suffer alongside, someone to share life - death - with in all its absurdity.

I was missing a family I never had, he was missing his parents who were buried together in Chicago. We each had jagged edges, but we fit well. But he was unhappy, and I think we both felt that there was further to go.

And whatever I went through, whatever hell I dragged my son through, those ten years were longer for Esme.

_**A/N** So I feel kind of bad abandoning Esme so early on, but Edward is a necessary and important part of Carlisle's story I wanted to explore. She'll be back soon! This is the first time I have ever posted something immediately after writing – normally I spend a week freaking out over apostrophes and such – so please let me know if it worked or if I should return to my old OCD ways._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Which Keeps The Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

For all I told him about marriage - and I knew even at the time that this was absurd because he was about eight years older than me and inevitably married to some wonderful woman with half a dozen angelic children - I would have broken every rule I'd ever lived by for him.

The second I laid eyes on him I found myself melting, for lack of a better word. It wasn't just that he was handsome – although he was unquestionably divine – but it was more than aesthetics drawing me in, more than charm. I was immediately enveloped in the most perfect, reassuring, comforting warmth, I felt safe when held in his soft appraising gaze. There was something so sincere behind his smile, like, if he chose me, I would be wholeheartedly adored and protected to the ends of the earth, like a glance of his would hold more love than most people are graced with in a lifetime. He gave off an aura of wisdom, and an infinite capacity for kindness.

(And a pair of entrancing golden eyes.)

I couldn't help but be spellbound and so I let myself fall. Not that I really ever had much choice in the matter.

As soon as I was back on two feet after that stupid accident, I returned to the hospital under the guise of a grateful patient clutching a card and some fruit cake. I was a little nervous but still smiling irresistibly: every inch of the hospital sang with his presence.

I hadn't set foot there since – well technically I'd never set foot there, but I hadn't been in the hospital since my mother had wheeled me out a month ago with a ridiculous cast I had already doodled all over. He had signed it too, in perfect handwriting across my ankle with a laugh that felt like syrup. As I rattled over the stones on my way out I twisted around in my seat and saw him standing in a first floor window, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching me go with an impassive face. But when he caught me looking, he beamed and waved. I grinned back, drinking in one last look, committing him to memory.

Now I restrained myself from skipping to the reception desk. The tired looking woman at the counter was buried in folders and papers but looked up enquiringly when I approached.

"Could you please tell me where I might find Dr. Cullen?" I asked, in a breathless torrent of words which I immediately knew were incomprehensible to the human ear. Her polite frown confirmed my suspicions and I felt blood rush to my cheeks in a bid to broadcast my embarrassment to the world.

"I'm sorry – Dr. Cullen. Is he around today?" I repeated at a more sensible pace.

"I'm sorry Miss, but Dr. Cullen resigned last month. The seventeenth I do recall. We've no word on where he's gone."

She seemed bemused and though I tried my hardest to keep my face blank I felt more than a little crestfallen. And utterly at sea.

I met him on the sixteenth.

Well then.

{-}

I spent far too long wondering fruitlessly, paranoia creeping in – he had been living here for ten years, working his way up the ranks in the hospital, then decided to leave without a trace the day after he fixed my leg. The day after he sat up with me and we watched midnight pass before our eyes.

It didn't sit right, but I had no way of tracing him. I asked around the hospital, the town, careful not to raise any suspicions but covering my ground as well as I could. He had a surprisingly small circle of acquaintances at the hospital who would occasionally drag him to some gathering or celebration, but as far as I could tell there was no one who counted him as a friend or could give me any details at all. However it became clear that everyone who had ever encountered him remembered each moment with extraordinary clarity, and often a wistful smile.

The venture was good for one thing; I unearthed the treasure of his first name. Carlisle Cullen. I savoured the alliteration, rolling it around on my tongue like a toffee. Later I pored over a book in my father's study, unearthing gobbets of information which were both fascinating and entirely useless. "Carlisle" from a Celtic word for "strong", but better than that was "Cullen" – Irish again, "handsome".

Indeed.

I must confess though, after that things began to unravel somewhat. With the rapidly apparent lack of any suitable propositions, and my ever advancing tread on the path of education my parents began to get a little restless. I never forgot him, but as the years went by I tried to tuck him away to the back of my mind. He surfaced occasionally in a dream, but I was generally a little preoccupied.

My mother in particular was becoming increasingly focused on my life as a teenaged spinster. I remember being irritated by her attempts when I was sixteen, and of course I broke my leg in an effort to evade her for a few months. Unfortunately my doctor was extraordinarily good and I was back to afternoon tea within six weeks.

By the time I was nineteen, all my friends were sporting diamond rings and dreaming of baby names and china patterns, and it became an all out war.

She had always resented me for not being the epitome of femininity, for aspiring beyond my situation; but she lacked a certain grace herself when we were engaged in a screaming row, red faced and incandescent. Once one of us stormed off, spilling over with white hot rage, there would be an unsettled peace until the next time. Until the next time I scared off a boy with talk of Austen, the next time she caught me studying Latin under the bed sheets.

The next time she introduced me to someone and all I could think was that he was incomparable to the doctor who had carefully pocketed my heart and carried it off with him, all those years ago.

{-}

Charles Evenson was much like the others in every way but one.

My father had some shady business dealings – I can't go into the details because even now I don't really know how it all fits together. But suffice to say, he was at the beck and call of a large corporation operating above the state police department, headed by a certain Mr. Evenson.

I'm not really sure how he got the impression he did, I have always have been entirely average with regards to appearance. Average height, average weight, average features, nothing remarkable in the slightest. Mid length brown hair which never managed to curl properly but refused to sit straight either – which drove my mother mad, so I never held a grudge against it.

One day I was scurrying through the living room with an armful of books, heading for my room, when he happened to be there thrashing out some deal or another. I barely noticed his presence, but later that night my parents called me down for "a little chat".

{-}

That evening I dreamt of Carlisle. I don't often, but I did that night. I dreamt of Carlisle and a wedding I had no chance of preventing.

Mostly I was sobbing into his shoulder, soaking his white coat as he enfolded me in a hug and whispered soothing words in my ear. It was unspeakably wonderful, he smothered me in comfort and his arms were like a sanctuary, it was like he was infusing me with peace and the strength to keep on walking. His embrace was gentle, but it still felt like he was shielding me from the rest of the world, from my parents, from the brute who had rammed an expensive diamond ring on my finger with a sly, suffocating smirk.

It was a matter of weeks before I was hurried down the aisle. My mother dragged me out of bed as the sun was rising, determined to make me beautiful for just one day, but I didn't say a word all morning. I hadn't slept, she merely tutted and covered the shadows about my eyes with makeup. I had been defeated and I had never seen her so happy, positively effervescent with joy, flitting about with hairbrushes and earrings like a butterfly and I couldn't even dredge up the emotion to scream.

I was empty.

I allowed myself to be poked and prodded and painted and jostled into a terrifyingly white dress. When she was finished I gazed at my reflection with hazy eyes, and my mother stood proudly at my side.

It wasn't me.

The girl in the mirror was solemn and silent and still, she was quiet and looked a little unwell. The girl in the mirror had never climbed a tree. The girl in the mirror had never spoken a word out of turn, she was obedient and honest and exceptionally subservient. The girl in the mirror had never lived. Certainly she had never loved.

My mother was about to burst out of happiness, pride, victory. All of the above.

It did not escape my notice that I was never left on my own for a second, never given the opportunity to run away in my ridiculous shoes. My parents kept a hawk eye on me and as we stood outside the church my father grabbed my hand tight. I glanced up, daring to hope that the weight of what he was doing had hit him, that he would give me a look, understand finally and let me turn back.

Instead he squeezed my hand and muttered in my ear.

"Thank you for doing this darling."

My heart sank even lower, possibly blotting out of existence altogether. Wagner's march began to play, sealing my fate in the most ludicrously melodramatic way possible.

I realised my father was pulling me forward but my feet were frozen to the ground. Blankly I registered his face which was mildly frightened, and shook some sense into my body.

Even though I had never heard of Charles Evenson until this debacle, he was one of the most powerful men in the state. He got what he wanted, and should my father have refused me then he and his business would have been sunk, he and mother would have been in mortal danger, their blood would be on my hands if I walked away.

I hated them. I hated them with a fierce, burning passion stronger than anything I'd ever felt, but I couldn't help but fall for their vicious demands with a reluctant, acquiescing nod.

The church was full of people, only a handful of whom I knew. I had no other family and my closest friends had been barred from the building by my mother, rightfully scared of a scene. It was just influential folks from the neighbourhood, my parents' friends and associates. No one who would notice the disgraceful tremor at my lip and certainly no one who would act on it.

Evenson was waiting at the end of the aisle, his greasy smirk plastered over his features. I had grown to loathe that expression more than anything else. It reeked of smugness, of the cat who got the cream and was lapping it up. Messily.

A brief thought flashed wildly across my mind: if I tripped, could I stop this? Delay it at least. Perhaps I would end up in hospital under the attentions of a fair haired angel with cold hands, he would fight them off.

I had always scoffed at the knight in shining armour, always been determined to be my own rescuer. But what I wouldn't give for him to come charging up the aisle with an outraged yell and stab Evenson through the chest, grinning savagely as blood spurted over the cold, hard floor . . .

No, Carlisle wouldn't do that. He would grab me by the hand, take a split second for our eyes to meet and crackle with electricity, say one word to me in a low, melodic voice.

_Run. _

But he never came. Of course he didn't. It was a ridiculous childhood fantasy I was going to have to shed along with my old self.

As I was reciting my vows, I realised I was glad. Because I would not have wanted him to see me do something so cowardly.

The Esme he had spoken to would have rather died.

_**A/N**__ Reviews are love. (*is wracked with newbie doubt*)_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Which Keeps The Stars Apart_**

_Clarissa Rose_

_Carlisle_

In the hospital that day, I was only really half there. It had been a bad week with Edward.

He was going out of his mind with boredom, but still having immense difficulty leaving the house. However he hated me staying home with him even more, and had forced me back to work. We had ventured into the villages once or twice, just skimming the outskirts, but even with me gripping his arm and speaking firmly in his ear, he was still tortured with the instinct to break my hold – and he certainly could have, no doubt about that. There would be nothing I could do but clean up the damage if he slipped. So whilst he was stuck in the cottage flicking through books and pacing through the halls, I was here, half-heartedly saving lives.

Somewhere the flame had dimmed slightly. On my more melancholy days it was all I could do to come in knowing that the only thing I would see would be dying children and the harm humans inflicted on others – it never ceased to amaze, the amount of victims who stumbled through our doors, people who had been mugged, raped, assaulted, ferociously beaten just for the sheer hell of it.

But I knew I could help, so I dragged myself in. Little roused my curiosity very much though, little broke through the apathetic walls.

But when it did it was always the same thing.

Two pretty syllables had been haunting me for years now. Whenever her name fell from someone's lips I would find myself on my feet, demanding specifics – I couldn't justify it, even to myself, but I still found myself wondering. I barely knew her for a day and a night, and then I moved on, terrified of what her scent might lead me to. But she had shaken me, and I simply did not believe that Esme Platt had been placed in my path without a reason.

Edward knew. He had caught her trailing across my mind before, and I try not to hide things from him. He had never asked though, never shown a flicker of curiosity over the good natured girl in Columbus.

Wednesday, I was sitting in the doctor's lounge, on my own, sweeping through a medical journal and feeling rather disenchanted with the whole thing. Each article detailed some new technology or discovery I was fairly sure wouldn't work – things seemed to be grinding to a halt.

I threw it down and sat back, closing my eyes and letting my senses assault me. The rhythms of the hospital built up into a many layered symphony, chatter and laughter and someone sobbing on the third floor, the constant grind of trolleys wheeling down corridors and whirring machinery – it all crashed together in a discordant hymn. Similarly my nostrils were being assailed with disinfectant mostly, shades of sweat, medicine, the rusty flavours of blood and vomit. I let all the words of my colleagues blur into one and wondered if this was what it was like to sleep, conscious surrender to the universe.

It was not to last though. Of course it wasn't. But I can't honestly say I minded being disturbed. The conversation across the room took an interesting turn, her name struck across my hearing, my eyes flashed open and suddenly I was on my feet.

I forced myself to cross the floor at a normal pace, and slipped easily into their conversation, a gaggle of nurses swapping folders and filling out papers. I cleared my throat, sat down beside them, and let my eyes wander over the forms.

"The Esme Evenson case?" I asked nonchalantly.

"What? Oh yes, Mrs Evenson," fumbled the flustered looking nurse. "Yes. Consulting room four."

"Well what's the problem?"

I always felt horribly manipulative when talking to people. It would be naive to forget that I was beautiful, but it took me a long time to get over the fact that a concerned look, a slight tip of the head, something as simple as a hand brushing her arm would have her spill anything I wanted to know without a thought.

"It's only a minor injury. But it's the third minor injury she's come in with. Do you think we should mention it Dr. Cullen?" the nurse asked, looking up with big, earnest eyes.

I knew it couldn't have been her – I'd left her in Ohio for goodness' sake – but I had spent the morning in the morgue and was only too ready for a break from the dead. With a quick word, I left for the consulting room, wondering what the puzzle might be.

{-}

When I opened the door, part of me – the rational part - never expected it, but in my heart I knew I would see her brown eyes shining up at me again.

My Esme was sitting on the bed, skimming her feet across the floor.

I was overwhelmed with her perfect scent again, even stronger than it had been then – though I was barely aware of doing so, I inhaled recklessly, drawing it against my tongue for a moment, gulping it down – it was dangerously rich, dark, lusciously sweet, but frothy and delicate and dancing in the simplicity of a scent so pure my stomach lurched with pain. My tongue darted to the corner of my mouth, catching a bead of venom before I began to drool. The absolute instinct to take her there and then raged through me and I shuddered with the effort to remain still, swallowing back the flood of venom which ripped along my parched throat like fire.

The impossibility of the situation did not hit until I had spent a second staring. She was looking up at me in a similar euphoric disbelief. It had been years – she was what, twenty five?

And oh my.

Gone was the young girl puzzling her way into adulthood with fierce dreams and sparkling eyes. Her face had softened from the bright, curious girl into one of refinement, one of elegance. Her hair was longer, caramel curls drizzling over her shoulders, and she was worryingly slender, narrow hips and pronounced cheekbones dusted with powder.

Esme had shed the air of naivety but the smile that split across her face was the same.

At some point she had crossed a line and become beautiful.

All of this happened in a moment, the time it took for her to look up and register, to scramble to her feet and gape for a second, her mouth falling open. We were both frozen and I had no idea how to proceed – she looked overjoyed but also adorably confused, perhaps wondering if I was a lookalike to her doctor from so long ago, a younger brother maybe.

Vaguely I wondered how I was going to evade her inevitable questions. I had never had the misfortune to run into someone from a past "life" before, never had a reason – for her, I would be forty four, but I barely looked half that. I pushed my hair back self consciously, three dozen questions tussling in my mind but only one of which was appropriate to ask.

"So what seems to be the problem?"

Something akin to disappointment flickered in her eyes.

"Dr. Cullen?" she said hesitantly.

I could have lied. But I didn't want to.

"Yes Esme." I bowed my head, awaiting the barrage of questions and filtering through my accounts in my head: how much I could pay her to stay silent, where Edward and I could go . . .

"Do you - do you remember - in Columbus-" she floundered, unable to articulate whatever it was that had been festering in her mind for almost a decade.

I couldn't even look at her without my heart aching.

"Yes, I remember you Esme." I said quietly.

She gazed at me, searching out every inch of my face, her hand covering her mouth. I heard her heart racing.

"I can't believe . . . Dr. Cullen, how- you don't look a day older."

She hopped back onto the bed as I approached, taking up her records, surreptitiously checking through the details and history.

"Thank you. So how have you been? I would assume there is a Mr Evenson now?" I said, keen to change the subject.

"Yes,"

She looked away for the first time, twisting the ring around her finger. I wasn't disappointed exactly, I had no right to be as long as she was happy, but the indignant fervour with which she has asserted her ambitions was still fresh in my mind.

The room seemed to be shrinking around us, echoing back each surge of scent which mirrored her heartbeat.

"We married a few years ago, but Charles only got back from the war in March."

While she was talking, I was reading her file, memorising every incident for which she had ever been hospitalised. Esme appeared to be extraordinarily unlucky – three visits this year, a sprain, concussion and a deep cut on her arm.

Perhaps she was still climbing trees.

"What about you?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Hm. This and that."

I dearly wished I could be a little less non committal, but I could never have begun to explain.

I closed the gap between us and gestured questioningly towards the sleeve of her cardigan. She dutifully rolled it up, exposing the jagged gash tearing up her upper arm.

""This and that"" she repeated, regaining enough confidence to tease. "Why did you leave Ohio?"

I shrugged, examining the injury which had been stitched up by some incompetent trainee with unsteady hands by the looks of it.

"A change I suppose. My family prefers the countryside anyway . . ."

Technically, all of this was true.

"Ah, right." There was a moment of silence which for some reason, wasn't awkward at all. We just drank in each other's presence, basked in the golden coincidence that had led us there.

I couldn't help but wonder if she had spent the last decade listening out for my name.

"I'm here to get those stitches out," she said softly.

As I was sterilising the site, curiosity still nagged at me as persistently as the thirst.

"What about you Esme - why did you move, what have you been doing with your life?"

"Charles just needed to be out here for work or something . . . I've not been doing anything really. Never got around to that teaching thing I promised."

There was a slight inflection of bitterness, shame.

"Mmhmm."

I began carefully cutting the stitches loose, threading them back through. The wound seemed to be holding nicely, and she was quiet while I worked, her breath hitching every time I touched her.

"How did you manage this one?" I asked, trying her distract her as I dressed it with gauze and bandages.

She shrugged with the shoulder I wasn't working on.

"It was just a kitchen accident."

As my fingers skimmed over her skin I hoped she would let the cold pass without comment. She was very warm under my touch, pulsing with hot, precious blood. Actually, it seemed a little arrhythmic, there was something the slightest bit out of sync.

I took up my stethoscope – keeping up appearances - and motioned towards her chest.

"May I?"

"Of course. Why?"

I didn't answer, just listened. It was strong and steady, fluttering away.

And just then I realised exactly how the scent had changed and I froze, sniffing tentatively, because I had to be sure.

When I had walked in, I knew it was different – the sixteen year old Esme Platt's smell had been simply unforgettable. This was almost identical but a few notes off, the edges smoothed down –at first I had attributed it to age, she had grown and changed, perhaps it was something as simple as a changed diet, marriage.

But something fell into place when I caught the prickle of oestrogen in the air.

I stepped back, running through the possibilities in my mind, trying to come up with an alternative explanation. Somehow, I could not reconcile the mental image I had been carrying of a precocious sixteen year old girl with the woman sitting before me, what I was about to tell her seemed like an anachronism. But I pressed my fingers against her wrist, daring to snatch one last breath, and I was sure.

I stepped back, hands on my hips.

"Esme, is there any chance you might be pregnant?"

_**A/N:** And thus we begin to deviate from canon . . . sorry this took a little while to get out, I suck at dialogue and it was tricky trying to pull off such a talky chapter. And I'm sorry it's a bit crap in general, but my mother was nagging me to get it online. ¬_¬_

_Review please! I've got to get my kicks somewhere . . ._


	5. Chapter 5

_**Which Keeps The Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

If a lifetime's worth of existing could be held as a corporeal entity in careful hands, with the decisions and chances and domino tumbles spread over the surface, I think there would be burning spots, five or so perhaps. A cinquefoil of pressure points, maybe a triptych if you weren't so lucky. And if nudged or questioned, if the tiniest chance of rain or impulse had thrown one of these situations out of sync then the structure would crumble to dust and the remnants would be scattered to the storms of probability that govern the universe.

I know where mine would start.

A summer's day, a tumble from a tree, a certain doctor stumbling into my life with indefinable grace and a glowing smile. And then Charles of course, binding me to him – another quirk of circumstance, he caught my eye and that was that. But here was another, and I was in the unique position of being able to watch it unfold, fairly certain that the path of my entire life would lead in spaghetti tangles from this moment.

When he opened the door, I did not double take, I did not doubt, because Carlisle's face had been seared across my mind and it was him.

Over the years, several times I had reached out a hand to a stranger – someone who, with a certain light and sleepy eyes, might be him - a white face or a glimmer of amber - and my heart would stop before this mysterious person would turn around and I would chastise myself for being quite so foolish. Foolish for hanging onto childhood fantasies, foolish for forgetting I had left my old life behind in Columbus, foolish for believing for a second that anyone could even resemble him in all his perfection.

But this was him and this was real and I didn't know what to do.

So many times I had played out this very moment in my mind, so many almost rehearsed things I wanted to say – more than anything I wanted to jump up and feel him to check he was solid, grab him in my arms, bury my face in his chest and not let go. But I had to content myself with simply looking, staring with greedy eyes.

In the last ten years, I had aged twenty. An eternity of drudgery and sleepless nights had systematically destroyed me until I couldn't bring myself to care anymore, just enough to dust over the bruises with make up and make do. My hair had grown out in straggly clumps, my skin cracked and dry. There wasn't an inch of me that didn't hurt. And I had never cared until confronted with this ghost from my past who was so gloriously real it didn't seem to be happening.

He swept through the door, all limbs and grace with spidery white fingers and he caught sight of me. He stopped dead, trapped in a freeze frame, the look on his face as impenetrable as glass. It seems so unfair that a jumble of lines and colours should come to something so heartstoppingly perfect.

{-}

And so I was hanging on to his every word of course, but a lonely decade was still rushing through my mind and under his careful fingertips, everything began to hurt a little bit more than normal. I felt exhausted, but in a good way, the slightly delirious treading-on-the-edges-of-hysteria way that made the lines of the world a little bit hazy.

But trust Carlisle to slice through that with a look, a frown, a few carefully chosen words. It was the sound of my world crashing about my ears which brought me back to reality.

"Is there any chance you might be pregnant?"

A moment of stunned incomprehension, then I remembered he was talking about me.

What?

Pregnant. With child. Was I . . .

I had never really considered the idea before.

I took a moment, forced the image in my mind just to try it.

It didn't seem too bad.

To the world's disapproval, I had never had any desperate yearning for a child. I cooed readily enough over my old friends' babies, but never felt any pangs of jealousy when handing them back. But somehow, now I was faced the possibility . . .

But then I remembered Charles sneering over my shoulder with a hard glint in his eye and my half formed daydreams turned to ice and shattered in the air.

Carlisle darted forward and took my hand, repeating my name. Five minutes ago I would have been dizzy with his presence, but now all I could feel was the twist of life in my womb.

"Are you sure?" I whispered.

He looked mighty relieved that I had regained the power of speech, but still gloriously concerned.

"Obviously I can't be one hundred percent certain, but –" he started slowly but I stopped listening because he was lying.

"A baby." I breathed.

He tipped his head to the side slightly, searching out my eyes again.

"So this is a good thing?"

I nodded faintly. I wasn't entirely sure how but I was determined to make it wonderful.

"Well congratulations!" he beamed, patting my arm. That gentle touch was enough to bring me back to earth, sending electric shockwaves through me where he touched, an old bruise smarting under my sleeve and suddenly I had no idea what I was going to do.

It's funny. Never once did I consider this creature Charles', in any sense at all. I thought I might balk a little, at bringing a being made half of him into the world, but it just never crossed my mind. Something quite so precious never registered as having any link at all to Charles Evenson.

In the years of our marriage, Charles had manifested into a series of slow, languid struggles, driving me into a corner, hard, iron eyes, and the curl of his lip which displays every thought running through his sick mind. He's a simple man my Charles, smart enough to hide it but easy to read once you've learnt how. Occasionally he would get angry but often it was simpler than that, just part of the routine. He toys with me. It's like foxhunting, catching scents and driving them down, watching the glint fade from the creature's eye as the blood drains from its hollow chest.

I couldn't imagine him with my baby. His massive fists cradling a heady of downy hair, it seemed incongruous, inherently wrong to the most primitive levels.

Because I knew how easily those fists could curl up into a threat.

"Dr. Cullen," I said carefully.

"Yes?"

"What if this isn't a good thing? I mean, hypothetically?"

The consulting room was small, but the walls seemed to be closing in and I felt myself sweating under the sunlight beating in through the window. I fought to keep my breathing measured as I looked up at him, frowning now.

My God, even without that smile. His brow was furrowed and his lips were pressed together carefully and it could have been transposed from a mildly discontented angel.

"Well . . ."

"Forget it," I said, my face burning red. He swallowed audibly.

"No, don't, I didn't mean . . . what is it Esme? Because I could arrange . . . something. I know a young girl who had her baby adopted, I could-"

"No, no." I hurried, and somehow my arms were wrapped around my stomach.

"No." I repeated.

I was convincing myself now, and his eyes softened.

"I'll make it a good thing."

In my head, I was already forming plans. How best to tell him, my parents, how to run if it came to it.

This had turned into the most extraordinary day.

"Well I'd like you to make an appointment to see me in three weeks if that's OK." He said, a smile threatening once again. "And congratulations."

I nodded slowly, daring to hope I had heard right, daring to hope he had specified.

"Just tell Jenny on reception that Dr. Cullen is doing clinic shifts again, and I'll sort it."

He was. And now he was pressing a handful of forms into my hand with the sweetest smile and honest, genuine delight.

"I'm glad you stumbled across my path again Esme, I often wondered what had happened to you."

I won't lie. That simple sentence justified everything. The decade of waiting suddenly seemed irrelevant.

That day I had adopted him as a kind of half imaginary friend, my only solace on those days when salty tears were stinging bleeding hands. I had been mildly afraid that all that time had twisted my perception of a memory and that I had idealised him a step too far, made him into something superhuman and that if I ever met him again, it would be nothing but a crushing disappointment.

But I hadn't. It wasn't.

Carlisle was Carlisle, and as he folded me into a wordless hug I felt everything settle into place.

_**A/N:**__ Please review, totally makes my day! :)_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Which Keeps The Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Edward_

Carlisle had been called to the hospital in the early hours of the morning, and since then I had been suffering somewhat.

Reading minds isn't how people imagine it to be.

Firstly, I have never been able to control it. The word "reading" suggests a voluntary action, that the human brain is a volume to be perused and set down at will. Carlisle told me about a vampire he knows who can do it by touch and that pulling away is as simple as taking a step back. I would gladly kill a dozen humans for that level of command. We've been trying – he's the most endlessly patient man I've ever met – but we've only narrowed it down to a radius of about two miles. I won't let him move somewhere more remote, it would be wrong to uproot him and sacrifice the work he did settling us in, and I need to learn. So we stay - but there is a village, population of a few thousand I would guess, whose thoughts demand my attention for every moment of every day.

Secondly, people don't think in neat, grammatical sentences, teasing out their own ideas in careful prose. People think in bursts and fragments, leaping on to the next thought with seemingly no intervening step. Images and memories flash through their minds like lightening or are played through as the person languishes in their own misery – music, always music, and smells, tastes too – if someone is recalling a particular type of apple pie, it will ghost on my own dead taste buds, swirl up my nose in a weak imitation.

It's complete invasion, and most days I can't find my own thoughts among the crowd.

Carlisle tries, he buys me novels and sketchbooks and records, he gets me books which teach French, algebra, astrophysics – anything which might hold my interest for a moment. But I've yet to find anything which takes me away from the trifling goings on in Little Brackford.

{-}

When he got in that night I was sprawled on the sofa in the living room, my eyes screwed shut and my hands kneading my temples, as if I could physically work out the intruders. It was pathetic but whenever I tried to add anything else to the furore, it built up into such an uproar I couldn't breathe for the pain.

I felt him before I heard him at the door: the babble began to soften, blotted out by a flood of white. Carlisle thoughts were like salve on a burn, endlessly patient and calm they washed over the torrents of petty voices and dulled the jagged edges. As he wandered over the voices faded to a low murmur and I let my hands drop in poorly disguised relief.

He thinks it's because he's a vampire and everything is amplified. I think it's just because he's Carlisle.

I didn't open my eyes though. I hated the sympathy and dismay that always painted his face and mind whenever he caught me on a day when everything was a little more ruthless. Instead I waited for the shift in the air and the scuff of his feet which meant he had sat down on the floor beside me. There was a cold hand on my shoulder, rubbing the last of it away.

"Bad day?"

I nodded faintly and let my eyes open, my lungs exhale, my body slacken.

"But it's getting better." I said.

_Liar._

I twitched in annoyance and he apologised hurriedly.

"We'll get there." He promised.

He always promises and I know he believes it.

In the silence, he began to mentally work through the shift schedules for the next day. It was fairly obvious he was trying to hide something, although the last time he did that it was when I had first changed. He had wanted to wait until I was in a more coherent state before giving me the details about my parents. This left me somewhat apprehensive: usually he was absurdly open and censored nothing.

"Carlisle?" I asked suspiciously.

"Yes?"

I paused. His tone was exasperatingly innocent, and I took a moment to consider.

"Nothing."

I could hardly begrudge him his secrets after all. But I did resist the urge to snort at the triumph which shot through his brain, self congratulation for his own supposed success.

{-}

Normally in the evenings, I took up residence in a chair in the corner of his study.

It had started purely because he offered such respite from the humans. When he first changed me, I blamed him. I loathed him. The constant agony of thirst and the screaming in my head made me into a petulant teenager, and I stormed about in a fury, shouting and threatening. But I couldn't stop myself creeping into his sanctuary with a book and leeching off of his peace for a little while.

He never said a word, he waited for me.

As time went by the tension began to melt as I got over myself. Now, though I still take a book – I'm not sure why, just habit – our conversations are endlessly fascinating. We discuss the hospital and other trivialities, the progress I'm making controlling my power, then wider things: politics, art, literature, philosophy, science, religion. Vampires and the world thereof.

That night when I wandered in, he was poring over some records from the hospital, but I felt something slightly off, he was only half with me. As his eyes kept flicking back to the papers on his desk, a face kept flashing through his mind before he registered it, then he would tuck it away again, moving on to something dull, his words uninterrupted.

It was driving me mad – not so much with curiosity, but it was like listening to a badly tuned radio.

_I don't think I can hide this from him for much longer_ muttered his subconscious.

"Then don't!" I exclaimed. He snapped his head up in confusion, I recognised the whispery tone of a thought only half realised.

"Who's that girl? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but can you please stop fretting?" The words burst out of me and I instantly felt embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you what to think, I just-"

"No, no." He sighed, putting down his pen and leaning back in his chair. "_I'm_ sorry Edward, this must be most maddening for you."

"Slightly."

"Oh goodness . . ."

I looked up at him and he was chewing his lip – he was_ nervous_ . . . I sat up a little straighter, interested now – I had never seen him like this.

"Do you remember that kid I told you about from Ohio, Esme Platt?"

I remembered her clearly. He had been trying to make me feel better about the whole bloodlust thing, but when he was telling me about her he accidentally called the scent up in his mind, and even the watery, second hand version had sent my head spinning. I nodded my assent and waited for him to continue, but he didn't. Instead he was musing, and I was finally able to see her clearly.

It was her – same face, same smile as her sixteen year old self, still treading the line between pretty and plain. But she looked a lot older than twenty five or whatever, all bony wrists and darting eyes. Mmm, and she still smelled magical, strands of vanilla and spice and something fresh and flowery . . . oh god, venom was burning in my throat and I began to tremble.

"Carlisle, stop that." I begged hoarsely.

"Oh sorry!"

He hastily began reciting the periodic table in his mind and let me calm down a little.

I swallowed and the red haze left my vision.

"So what about her?"

"I don't even know!" he said, throwing his hands up in frustration. "She . . . I don't know. All this time and she suddenly turns up on the other side of the country with the _oddest_ set of medical records I've ever seen, _pregnant _but not knowing it, and then she seems to think . . . I don't know what she thought, but there's something . . ."

He spoke out loud, because it was easier to focus a narrative – his mind tended to wander – but alongside, I caught images and snatches of her voice, the look on her face when he told her, the feeling of her in his arms, the plans for next month-

"Carlisle!" I said, shocked.

"What?"

"What . . . what are you doing?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Nothing untoward. But I'm worried."

"You're leading her on. It's not fair." I argued.

I could not think of any way this would end well and refused to believe he was too blind to see it.

"Edward," he said, his voice irritatingly mellifluous. "I just don't think she's turned up again for no reason."

I leant back in my chair and shut up. I wasn't sure if I had the energy to engage in yet another existential debate which I was certainly going to lose.

_Everything happens for a reason. _

_We've been given this burden because we can make good of it._

_Your nature is not predetermined, you can live your life as you see fit, not your instincts._

So many little catechisms he would whip out, either in the midst of a debate or to comfort me in the darkness when I was soaking up a thousand nightmares. And there was nothing I could say because although I knew he was wrong, I couldn't persuade him and I didn't have the right to.

This Esme girl – I couldn't puzzle it out, because with my gift, I heard thoughts, memories, daydreams and musings but never _felt_ anything. I watched objectively as someone played out their sick fantasies or hopeful daydreams, but never stood in their shoes: I was fated to be a bystander, a witness and nothing more. So though I heard him speak fondly, and he had acknowledged the weight and mystery of the situation, I could not begin to untangle his feelings on the matter.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to, because it was not going to work – he had invited her back and I was fairly sure he was determined to befriend her, but to what end?

At this stage, I share his observations, but not his worry or care. And though I am horrendously cynical, I honestly think this is going to end in tears.

_**A/N:**__ I started this chapter in both Carlisle's and Esme's point of view but it didn't fit – it took me far too long to realise Edward was irresistible in all his thought-angst and might have something to say. I suspect he will get the occasional chapter hereon if people think it worked. _

_Reviews are magical. _


	7. Chapter 7

_**Which Keeps The Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Mother,_

_Thank you for your last letter. Things are going well with us – actually I have a piece of news which I would rather share in person, but since I won't be in Columbus until Christmas I shall tell you here: _

_I'm having a baby! _

_I'm three months gone now – very sorry for not telling you sooner but I wanted to be sure everything was going as it should be, and it is. Charles and I are over the moon of course, although it is a little difficult to comprehend that by the time March comes around we shall be a family of three._

_I do hope you will write back soon with your blessing._

_Your daughter, _

_Esme_

{-}

Lies, all lies. Mostly lies anyway, with just the right inflections of naivety and delight, peppered with extraneous exclamation marks and in general, quite sickening. But it was enough to toss in the post to placate her, and finally the endless epistolary lectures about my failure as a wife might be coming to an end.

Charles had reacted . . . interestingly. But mostly, since then, he had left me to my own devices and as long as the house was presentable and dinner was on the table, he seemed content to leave me in peace. It was disconcerting, but certainly nothing I could complain about . . . and I had my bizarrely frequent trips to the hospital to break up the days.

The appointments with Carlisle – Dr. Cullen - were wonderful yet endlessly frustrating. We were both playing a game and neither of us knew the rules. I still could not quite believe it was him, I still stared unashamedly and sometimes we lapsed into comfortable silences and the whole pretence I was there for any medical reason dissolved quietly in front of our eyes. But he was so careful with his words and glances, so guarded – whenever I pushed his patient smile into a laugh he would stop abruptly, guiltily and my mind was a storm of hopeful possibilities and theories, each more unlikely than the next. But on the other hand – lingering gazes and touches, a fond smile, the notes on my prescription pad. In his paradoxically neat doctor's handwriting, there was always an addendum to the medicines: the first week it was "good tea" then "sunshine", "sleep", "chocolate", all manner of things that left me smiling and hoping and wishing.

But I was never naive enough to hope it would last.

To be fair, it took Charles a long time to snap. I never would have believed he had it in him to leave me alone for ten consecutive weeks, so it was somewhat inevitable.

Something at work, I think, some deal that fell through.

And it was relatively quick, all I remember is a vase smashing in a tumble of crashing pieces, cracking and chiming in precise discord, then staggering through the garden and retching under a tree.

{-}

When I opened my eyes it was excruciatingly bright. Midday sun was streaming through the window and flooding my bedroom in a fit of irony. I groaned and rolled over, burying my face in the bedclothes, and only then did I remember, only then did I notice the dampness on my pillow, the stinging on my face and the ache in my bones.

Oh God.

Tentatively I shifted enough to see the dark stains on the bed sheets from where a cut on my cheek from that wretched vase had bled everywhere. I muttered a string of unimaginative curses because I had promised myself I wouldn't do that again – it was far too much work trying to salvage a set of bedclothes and a perfectly acceptable nightdress, as I had discovered.

My eyes adjusted to the light – the room looked like a hurricane had ripped through it, my things had been thrown all over the place and there were shards of glass scattered over everything like rain.

Someone was knocking on the front door.

For the first time in a long time – and I can only blame the rush of hormones – I wanted to cry.

It wasn't worth contemplating getting up and greeting whoever it was in a bloody nightshirt and I did not dare imagine what my face looked like. Instead I drew my legs up to my chest and pulled the sheets tight around me like a cocoon, studiously ignoring the mysterious visitor. I squirmed about to find a balance, an elusive spot which wouldn't aggravate anything, which would be enough for sleep to take me again.

My shoulder was throbbing but I couldn't quite remember what had happened.

The beat on the door was getting incredibly annoying so I pulled a sheet over my head as if I could block it out completely in a spate of childishness. Somehow it worked, the stranger stopped and must have left. Blessed silence settled upon the house. A choked sob ruptured it briefly, but I shoved my hand in my mouth and it was quiet again.

Warmth, stillness, peace.

A crack of glass under someone's shoe about six feet away.

A flash of panic shot through me and my heart lurched into my mouth - I yanked the sheets down, scrambled to my feet and looked wildly about for the intruder, the thief, the murderer-

Carlisle.

He was standing in front of the window, and the fuzzy sunlight about his silhouette made him look like an angel. But as my heart thumped away I registered the horror struck expression frozen on his face and I didn't know what to do.

Wordlessly I sank back onto my bed and stared at the floor, wiping blood and tears away with the back of my hand.

It did not occur to me to question the fact he had appeared in my bedroom exactly when I needed him. Later I wracked my brains and puzzled over every moment, but at the time – I was there, and so was he and this was slightly magical.

I must have been more exhausted than I thought because I didn't even notice him move. The next thing I knew he was sitting right beside me with one of my hands in both of his as he raked over every inch of me with darkening eyes.

I should have felt humiliated, but we were beyond that.

"Esme . . ."

I looked straight up at him and hoped to God my voice would hold.

"Can we just . . . not."

There was a pause and I had no idea what he was thinking, how I could stop it. Then he stood up.

An irrational rush of panic surged through me.

"I'll be back in a moment."

It wasn't even a moment, because I didn't have the chance to form a coherent thought before he returned with a bowl of warm water and a towel.

This was surreal. Not least because it was a scenario I had imagined a thousand times before. Every single time. And now he was in my room, tall and perfect and entirely real.

"Dr. Cullen, how did-"

He sat down again, his weight beside me assuring me he wasn't a particularly vivid hallucination.

"I think we might have progressed to "Carlisle", don't you?"

"But . . . how did you get in? _Why_ did you?"

My thoughts were slow and muddled and for some reason that was the most important thing to me at that moment in time. He considered his answer as he began to clean my face off, so gently I could barely feel it. His face was inches from mine and . . . what was even happening?

"You should have been at the hospital an hour ago. I knew you wouldn't miss another check on your baby for anything, so it was a reasonable assumption something had happened."

He cautiously avoided the first half of the question and I wasn't sure I wanted to know, so I let the silence wash back through the room.

Soon he stopped, drew his hand away.

"How often and for how long?"

His words were abrupt, as if he had been building up the nerve to say them, to acknowledge that this was real.

"Not recently." I said quietly.

He put the bowl down with rather more force than necessary and a crack splintered down the middle.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

And God help me, I laughed.

"Right. He moved us halfway across the country to cut off me off from my friends."

"Your family?"

"Were the ones who forced me into this mess to begin with."

He was looking at me with searching eyes, carefully digging through my soul.

"Me?"

That threw me.

"I . . . I don't know. What could you have done? Anything would just rile him up, I just . . . get on with things."

"And your baby?"

His voice was so even, there wasn't a shred of accusation in it – but I was still furious.

"Don't you dare even insinuate that I wouldn't move heaven and earth to-"

"Of course not." He said calmly. Embarrassment began to settle before the anger had even faded.

"Sorry." I muttered.

"Don't be. Don't be sorry for anything."

I wanted a snapshot of that moment: nestled against the man who had been watching over me for my whole life as he snaked his arms around me and breathed into my hair. My head rested against his chest, snug under his chin, and he was avoiding my shoulder though I have no idea how he knew it was sore at all. He smelled like something warm and soft like butterscotch.

It was unfairly picturesque, a fresh autumn afternoon, and although I was sickly pale with tangled hair and bloodshot eyes and he was almost angelic – it still felt like we fit. The circumstances were admittedly unfortunate, but they became more bearable for the occasional company of Dr. Carlisle Cullen - though I was not sure whether he was here in the capacity of a doctor any more.

A noise downstairs shattered the moment, someone's keys in the door – we both leapt up in horror, I twisted to look for an escape route that didn't exist. And then I caught the look in his eyes, hard and intense - he was tensed to spring.

"No- no, Carlisle please don't-" I said desperately.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked, his hands balling into fists, yellow eyes darkening.

"Please just – how did you get in?"

"Window." He said in a very forced, measured tone without shifting his gaze.

"What?"

It was closed and there was no way up the wall, but they were questions for another time.

There were footsteps in the hallway, heading towards the stairs.

He pulled me into a swift hug, kissed the top of my head and strode out into the corridor.

"Carlisle-"

I choked on the word, panic clawing up through my throat – I chased after him, a hand grabbing onto the doorframe to stop myself tumbling down the stairs. Carlisle was halfway down, Charles peering up at him from the bottom, squinting in confusion.

"Mr Evenson," said Carlisle cordially, tipping his hat to Charles who nodded back suspiciously, turning to watch Carlisle slip through the front door without another word.

He turned his narrowed eyes to me.

{-}

_Esme darling, _

_Of course we're delighted! This is wonderful news! Everyone's all of a flutter at the thought of our Esme with a babe - your cousins and the folks from church, neighbours, your old school friends . . . I even saw your old teacher the other day who seems mighty relieved you've finally given up on all those silly daydreams and settled down. _

_I feel like I've finally done my job properly and I'm already terrifically impatient – March seems an age away. After waiting so long for a grandchild I'm not sure I'll make it through another six months without going completely mad!_

_We shall come and visit soon sweetheart, November if we can manage it – I do so want to see you! And your father sends his love, he's as overjoyed as everyone!_

_Love always, _

_Mum_

_**A/N: **Bloody hell that was contrived. Anyway, j__ust a quick heads up - I'm horrifically busy with exams and stuff next week, so unlikely to be an update for a few days . . . boo. But please let me know what you think so far!! There's nothing more inspiring than knowing people are reading and it'll only take a second! _


	8. Chapter 8

_**Which Keeps The Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

Edward was sitting on the doorstep when I got home, slumped against the wall waiting for me. It was raining thick and fast, but even through the sheets of grey I could make out his glinting amber eyes which were narrowed reproachfully, the clench of his teeth.

Oh dear.

It wasn't a tremendous leap of logic to assume it was my thoughts which had aggravated him. White hot flames were licking up the inside of my skull and had been all day which he had doubtless been forced to endure. He always said I was "louder" than anyone else – it hadn't even occurred to me that I must have been screaming at him, explosions of rage and helplessness and horror rattling between his ears as an echo of my own.

"Carlisle!"

His voice was a little strained, but steady.

I slowed a little, in trepidation. I really did not have the energy to whip up a story, a grovelling apology. So I just trudged up the path with the air of one heading towards the gallows. Anything else would have been a step further than I could have managed.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He seemed so young, looking up at me with raindrops clinging to his eyelashes and dripping off his nose, but magnificently furious nevertheless.

"Don't patronise me." He snapped. "I'm old enough to know this is a stupid idea. Carlisle, there is literally nowhere you can go from here."

Oh.

I muttered something unintelligible and pushed past him to get inside. My coat was sodden so I shook it off, threw it on the stairs and went straight through to my study without dignifying his narrow-minded assumptions with even a glance. Edward let me slam the door like a petulant teenager and sink into my chair before he followed. I froze and listened as he hurried upstairs but stopped a little short of my door, his hands grazing the handle as he dithered. Frankly I didn't care – he would find out soon enough anyway – but he was still another dimension to the whole wretched situation.

How had I missed it? Nearly three months it had been – well, three months since I should have known, I shudder to think how long it had actually . . . that very first time - no, before that even – the nurse's quiet conversation which had drawn me to begin with ("Should we mention it?") – but I had been too dazzled to act like a halfway competent doctor, I had missed what I would have spotted immediately in anyone else on the planet. And _had_ spotted - so many times, a woman with a strange set of records and dark, darting eyes would scurry in. So many times I had slipped a short note and an envelope stuffed with cash into their bags, hoping against desperate hope that they would have the courage to run.

Esme would. No doubt about that. She was brave, she was fiercely protective of her baby already. She would be a smudge on the horizon given half a chance, and I could do better than that.

But God in heaven, that _man_ . . .

I couldn't help but imagine my teeth sinking into the animal's neck. It wouldn't be like it was with Edward – it wouldn't be quick or careful or subtle by any stretch of the imagination. He wouldn't have smooth, clammy skin or a pulse just flickering away, weak as rain. With him, I would slice through coarse muscle instead, find a deliciously strong heartbeat, tinged even sweeter with adrenaline and panic. I would be slow, I would chew carefully around the wound until he was in so much pain he would be screaming for death, begging me in a last gasp before I would methodically tear the last shadow of sanity from his body, sucking him dry.

But on the other hand it _would _be like it was with Edward – a blistering taste sparking pleasure in every nerve of my being until I was shaking so hard I could barely walk straight – I had never felt such a sensation and it wrecked me through. A singular glimpse of the road I had abandoned. And that man would be a thousand times more satisfying - I would have the time to pull his soul through my salty teeth, tenderly and with a jagged smile. She could watch if she wanted. Crimson would creep into my eyes, trickling through soft honey in a glorious, damning stain . . .

There was a strangled cry from outside and I heard Edward bolt, the thumps of his footsteps heading towards the forest.

Oh God, I'd forgotten.

The poor boy didn't deserve this on top of everything else.

But now I was alone.

I let my head fall into my hands. It should have been simple, it should have been as easy as a swift tug on his neck and that would be the end of things – then I could give Esme the means for a fresh start, send her on her way . . . but in a flash of sheer selfishness, I don't think I could. When I dared let myself daydream – in a rare moment when Edward was driven to such distraction he heard nothing but the animals, felt nothing but the throb of their arteries as he gorged frantically, in terror (I should have felt guiltier than I did) – in those moments I would magic up our own perfect little family somewhere far away, we could raise the child ourselves if she wanted.

And a wild teenaged vampire who couldn't even dream of a paper cut without salivating . . .

I could barely remember the time before things got complicated, my life – existence – had been cleaved into two: pre-Esme and now. If I'm honest with myself - and why not - even for all its troubles, I just about preferred now.

It's just that I couldn't let my eyes slip shut without seeing the most horrible things.

-

_**A/N**__ Apologies for how tragically short this part is – it's an interlude of sorts, and I promise that the next two chapters, if I can get them right, will be more exciting – I've been looking forward to writing them for like, a month now._

_Reviews are magical! Please leave a quick comment, there's nothing nicer than knowing people are reading something Carlisle/Esme, and possibly even enjoying it . . ._


	9. Chapter 9

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_This chapter contains potentially triggering material. _

_Esme_

It was immeasurably strange, pregnancy. Most of the time I didn't even want to think – everything seemed like it would jinx it. The whole thing just seemed so terrifyingly _precarious_ that I was afraid of breathing in case I got it wrong somehow.

My baby had begun to register as real for me, not just an abstract concept – he or she was a living, breathing little person who I would be meeting at some point soon. And as the weeks dragged by, Carlisle finished every examination with a wide smile and a detail which had me squirming with delight despite myself. With his constant reassurance, the fear started to abate a little.

Until recently, my baby had been made up of half formed fantasies between dusk and waking and the last drifting shadows of a peaceful dream, trailing on the edge of daybreak and clinging to my eyelashes. But now, I would catch myself glancing through a book without reading a word as names whirled through my mind like autumn leaves skittering down a street. I daren't consider anything else, not a tiny curling hand, downy hair and a honey sweet gurgle of joy – none of that, just words – they were all I could handle at that point. Sophie, Christopher, James, Anna, Luke, Ruth, Henry, Jenny, Peter, Katherine, John, Faith, Samuel, Grace. Each name conjured up a new identity, a new possibility, a new future – there were nights when everything was perfect and the whole universe, particularly the curve of my stomach under my fingers, was brimming with potential and positivity.

But there were the other nights too. Nights wracked with doubt and wild plans, nights I tossed and turned to shake the dreams out of my head. Dreams of pounding footsteps and twisted grins and grey shadowy cities where my breathing was ragged and I couldn't run any further, clutching a sweaty, blue lipped child to my chest. And then there were the nights I wasn't left alone with my imagination to begin with.

One night in particular. It wasn't exceptionally dramatic if I recall correctly – but the possibility remains that I don't.

{-}

After he left I found myself crumpled in a corner of the sitting room and suddenly there wasn't enough oxygen in the air. I uncurled my legs and gulped in several lungfuls before I started to panic – I felt it slipping down my windpipe and rushing out again in quick, bursting gasps. Spots were dancing in front of my eyes. Then there was the tightening in my stomach – I had gotten used to the random tugs and stirrings, but this wasn't right, something instinctive made terror shoot through my heart even before it happened.

There was a moment of stillness and all I could hear was my heartbeat racing. The floor was cold under my sweaty hands.

I shut my eyes and muttered an inarticulate prayer.

Then a fist grabbed at my baby, the most hideous cramp ripped through me and I fell forward, clutching myself against desperate hope.

"No, no, please God no . . ."

It rippled through my body like a wave, swelling and tearing and my gasping breaths shuddered into a rattling cry, loud in the darkness of the house. This wasn't . . . I couldn't . . .

I stifled another cry as it happened again, pulling and digging through my insides. The quiet warm feeling of something growing had disappeared – now it was just hot, excruciating pain pushing irreversibly onwards to an end I wasn't willing to consider.

All of this could not have been for nothing.

There was a warm trickle of something seeping down my legs but I couldn't look.

I struggled to my feet, pushing every thought but one out of my brain. One hand on the wall, one on my churning stomach and I staggered into the hallway.

Charles had left the front door open, and gusts of wind were hurling through the corridor sending papers and scarves fluttering past. The light of a full moon was casting everything in a silvery glimmer so I did not have too much of a problem poking my feet into a pair of shoes and pulling a coat on, even though my movements seemed to be a moment out of sync with my mind ordering them. It was dreamy and horrible and . . . if it wasn't raining this journey would take me fifteen minutes at the most.

My teeth were chattering uncontrollably, but it was nothing to do with the chill.

{-}

In retrospect, that walk was probably one of the stupidest decisions I ever made, but also one of the best. Mostly because I can't even imagine what I might have done that night without him.

It was cold and the wind was whipping about me, my hair flying about and sticking to my damp face. I couldn't breathe, twice I stopped to slump against a tree and wheeze until I could come up with a coherent thought, although I never really managed it that night.

There were more stars than I'd ever seen out in the sky, glinting in the crisp night air against the blackness. They mocked me as I paced on, one foot in front of the other.

_He would make it stop. _

I didn't see anyone else, which was one mercy God granted me that night. I was quiet, each stabbing pain making me gasp rather than shout now. The curtains were closed, no lights in any windows. But as I approached_ his_ house, I did notice a glow from an upstairs room – he was up and about and I was so thankful I didn't even wonder why. Relief dizzied me as I got to the end of his path and made it to his front door. I stopped for a moment, breathing shallowly and leaning against it, trying to regain some sense of cohesion.

My baby twisted again and I shuddered, finally letting the truth overwhelm me.

As I rapped on Carlisle's door with bloody fingers, I wept.

_**A/N:**__ Um, yeah. Don't Google "domestic violence and miscarriage" on a night you want to sleep. Once again, apologies for brevity (you really don't want to see the original 2000 word version) and lack of editing, but if I don't post this now I'll chicken out entirely. _


	10. Chapter 10

**_Which Keeps the Stars Apart_**

_Clarissa Rose_

_Carlisle_

It must have been about half past two, maybe three. All I know is that my shift had finished hours before and I was holed up in my study reading, my feet on my desk in a defiant sort of laziness. I didn't know where Edward was but that wasn't terribly unusual – he would not have strayed far, I assumed he was in his room or about the forest somewhere. After all, it was a deliciously crisp night.

I flicked through a few more chapters before I heard his footsteps – then I paused, marking my place with a finger to frown and listen harder – he was running, leaping up the stairs and dashing towards my door. I pulled my legs down and placed a scrap of paper in my novel. Another moment and suddenly, all I could hear was the crunch of wood in his fist.

I was on my feet in an instant.

Edward's eyes were encircled in smudgy black and darting restlessly over everything, but he wouldn't meet my gaze - he was wringing his hands, fidgeting in lightening quick little whips of his fingers over his face, his clothes. Each breath he took shuddered and he looked a nervous wreck.

Worst of all, the clear yellow in his eyes was flecked through with little spatters of black, as if someone had flicked paint into his irises.

I hurried over and grabbed his shoulders, filtering through my mind for a diagnosis that made sense, but none were forthcoming.

"Edward." I said firmly. I thought as loudly as I spoke, trying to psychologically pull him back from wherever he had gone. He looked up at me in wide eyed misery.

"I don't know what's happening. It's come up on me, all of a sudden – I hunted this afternoon, I promise, I-"

"Shh," I murmured, rubbing his shoulder. This had not happened before, but there didn't seem to be any immediate danger. "Don't be anxious, just try to-"

Suddenly he jerked his head to the side, staring at the window with glassy eyes. He was frozen solid, the tendons stark in his neck and his hands balled into fists. I had never seen any creature so tense.

Worry tried to creep through my mind but I pushed it away - instead I tried my hardest to project nothing but the purest calm. I submerged us in water, solitude, carefully crafted peace in the rawest sense I could manage. He squeezed his eyes shut and quivered, as if trying to force the bloodlust from his heart on willpower alone.

"Well done," I murmured. But he shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

"There's someone coming." He said through teeth so firmly clenched I could barely make out the words.

Blind terror seized me for a moment, twisting in my gut like a knife – but Edward gasped as if I'd struck him, and I hurriedly backtracked to the radiating calm. Carefully I thought things through. It was the middle of the night, we lived on the outskirts of nowhere and no human had ever made it as far as the driveway. But I couldn't doubt him, Edward's senses were still twice as strong as mine, and I had long lost my ability to smell human blood at all –

Except . . .

A heavenly scent of freesias and syrup curled about my face like smoke and suddenly this was impossible.

In a swift movement I grabbed onto his wrist as tight as I could. I knew he could outrun me easily, but it was all I could think of at the time.

"Edward, don't panic."

My voice was steadier than it should have been. I pulled him a few steps over until I could reach the window and nudged the curtain aside to peer out into the night. All I could see from the second floor was the crown of her head which was bowed and shaking, her hands fisted in the caramel curls and clutching them tight.

Esme was outside my house and there was blood on her fingertips.

"Edward!" I snapped, trying unsuccessfully to mask the pulse of fear throbbing in my brain – the second I had let that image drift across my imagination, tinged with her scent, he stiffened, tensed to run. I slammed the window shut and swivelled to face him with a thousand bad ideas rushing through my mind – but he opened his eyes and I shut my mouth. They were flooded with inky, impenetrable black, glinting in the candlelight. I knew in an instant that my Edward had vanished.

For a second we were frozen.

In a sharp tug he wrenched away from me and leapt down the full flight of stairs in a breathless drop. I shot after him, seized with the most visceral sort of panic - I threw out a hand to grab him when he was half a footstep from the door – grasped desperately at his neck, my fingernails digging into the silvery crescent I had painted there – it was enough to make him stumble and I jumped over him, in front of the door.

A terrible snarl ripped from my throat, my own eyes fiery and my teeth bared like an animal. He snapped back at me, and I couldn't recognise him as Edward, my thoughtful, gracious boy – he made another lunge for the door but in a fragment of a moment I was in front of him – he slammed me into the floor with a resounding crack but I sprang up again-  
_(this was surely an unwinnable fight)_  
-and remembered the frightened girl a few feet away with a racing heartbeat and in a burst of movement I found my arms around his torso, one hand gripping my other wrist, encaging him with stronger arms than I was aware I possessed – he writhed and struggled ferociously, gnashing his teeth and biting down on my stony forearm. Venom sprayed down the wallpaper, leaving a constellation of sizzling little flecks.

"Edward!"

Every shred of my own control had disappeared. I couldn't think straight, I had lost myself as well – utter fury was saturating the parts of my mind I was relying on to be logical and I wanted to crush him there and then. Instead I sprinted out through the kitchen, kicked the back door off its hinges and ran towards the forest faster than I've ever run before. He didn't stop thrashing and howling until we were a good few miles away – but as I ran it faded, the vitriol leaking out of his fight to be replaced with a dull sort of horror.

I didn't have time for apologies.

After a minute he was limp and lifeless in my arms, neither resisting nor making any attempt to stand by himself. Instead he just kept his eyes screwed shut, overwhelmingly reminiscent of the sick, dying child he was when I first met him - but he did not have my sympathies that night. I threw him to the ground, somewhat harder than I like to recall.

"There's some deer a few yards ahead." I said shortly, before turning back around.

It shames me to say I didn't spare him another glance, but I have never been so angry. The times he had slipped before had been tragic, certainly, but how this could have ended . . .

In retrospect it's easy to say it wasn't his fault, it was hardwired into him to react like that – but at the time I couldn't stop a flurry of disgusting thoughts whirling through my mind as I sprinted home.

_Why was it taking him so long, when I had complete control by this point without any help at all? _

If he ever heard me think that, he never mentioned it.

{-}

The whole debacle had only taken a matter of minutes, but I think it was long enough for her to give up on me. Frankly I wouldn't blame her.

I bounded in through the back door and froze to listen – she was still there, thank goodness. I muttered an incoherent prayer as I tugged off my muddy socks and shed my ripped jacket, shoving them under the sink. Fury and horror and desperate worry were sparking off crackles of emotion and fraught questions and I knew the only thing I could do was to open the door. But first, I stopped my breathing because I anticipated needing a clear head that night, and the scent was already painful on my throat.

Esme was sitting on the doorstep with her back to me, resting her head on her knees, hunched and wilted and quietly breaking my heart. She seemed to be shivering a little in the cold, but when she heard me she froze. Slowly she twisted around, letting her knees fall from her grip.

I only took a second to look. She gazed back at me with unfocused eyes sunk deep into her beautiful, waxen face which was streaked with tears and sweat and a little cluster of red fingerprints near her temple. She was hunched over with her bony arms curled around her stomach now, and every spark of hope I had watched her gather over the last few months had blown away on the wind.

Oh God.

The last dregs of anger drained through me as I knelt down and helped her to her feet. She reached up and looped her arms around my neck and I felt exhaustion dripping off her like water.

I can't even describe it, I didn't want to say the word. Once we made it into the hall and light sought out her face, I just wanted to take her in my arms and run. If justice abounded in the world, she would be smiling and chattering and rounding out nicely with rosy cheeks and pocketfuls of daydreams, welcoming home a kind, loving (blond, doctor-type) husband every day. But instead . . .

I daren't imagine what might have happened if that man had been there then.

I felt her tremble and tried to focus.

"How long?"

"Not very." She whispered.

"Is he . . ."

I didn't know what I was asking. Is he following you, is he lying in a gutter somewhere, is he even aware of what he's done? Is he sorry?

"Gone. Don't know where. I'm so sorry Dr. Cullen, I just wanted to- I don't know what I was thinking, I-"

Her voice cracked and she pulled away, stepping back and running a hand through her hair. She looked so young and hopeless I couldn't even ...

"Dr. Cullen" stung more than it should have.

I folded her in a hug because I didn't know what to say. But the doctor in me was screaming – comfort be damned, I had to get her warm and we didn't have anything in the way of heating. Tea, painkillers, a bed – I had never felt so positively incompetent.

I quickly decided the sitting room was the best idea, if only because we hardly used it and there was nothing incriminating lying about, except perhaps a copy of Bram Stoker's _Dracula _which Edward had been reading. There was a sofa which was almost in one piece and not much else.

Wordlessly, I guided her through and motioned for her to lie down. She hesitated with the air of a woman who does not want to bleed over a friend's sofa, but exhaustion and gentle persuasion won out.

"I'll be one second," I promised, touching her sleeve as if that would somehow confirm my sincerity. I fetched some blankets which we had found when we moved in and hurried into my study. The best I could come up with for tea was water, and we didn't have any glasses – but in my study was a mug from the hospital full of pens which I tipped unceremoniously over the desk before making for the kitchen.

When I got back she had drawn her knees up to her chest again, resting her chin on them and crying in the most incomparable stillness. It was one of the most strikingly horrible moments of my life, watching tears creep down her face without a sound or a twitch – grief at its profoundest, clean and acute. Her liquid eyes finally flickered towards me, fathomless and world weary but startlingly clear. I took that as permission to cross the room and shake out a blanket before tucking it around her carefully.

She barely moved, but I sat down beside her, my hand irresistibly finding its way about her shoulder. I wanted to pull her into my arms, provide some semblance of warmth and comfort, but I didn't want to dislodge the blanket. That would risk my bare hands catching on her skin, and I imagined she had been trying to pass off the cold as coincidence for a long time now.

But it killed me, just watching.

The best I could do was stroke her hair, murmur pointless words and mentally detail exactly what I would do to her husband the next day. I almost wished she was actually injured - I could deal with broken bones and infections and lacerations and diseases, I could _do_ something. But I had never sat through a miscarriage before, passive next to a suffering patient, and I didn't think I ever could again.

I thought back to that day in Columbus, ten years ago – the vivacity and potential and determined sparkle. And I prayed to God that she would grab it back and run.

After a little while she relaxed of her own accord. Curling up slightly, she melted the space between us and fit snugly under my protective arm. The tears didn't stop, but soon they were accompanied by snuffling sobs which were more reassuring than anything else – that remote, silent despair was worse than anything. Almost worse. Each time the pain crested she stiffened for a moment, then shuddered, dropping her head and hiding her face as she cried.

"The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." I muttered.

She shifted slightly. Her face had been buried in my side, but she moved to look up at me.

"What's that from?"

Her voice was hoarse and cracking, but she was there.

"Psalm 34:18."

She nodded slowly.

At about five o clock the tension finally sapped from her body as she drifted off. Occasionally she whimpered and the hand splayed on my chest clutched a little tighter, but for the most part she was still.

The curtains were open and I watched the sun rise.

**_A/N_**_ - Sorry for the delay – I hate this chapter, it's so clunky and I spent three days shouting at it to make it more streamlined but it wouldn't. So now I'm posting it so I can get it out of my sight. _

_Reviews mean the world, please please please leave a comment! _


	11. Chapter 11

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Edward_

"_How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly and brings nothing but sweet dreams." – Dracula, Bram Stoker_

I suppose I knew on some abstract level what I was doing. I felt myself running, my bare feet thudding rhythmically against the ground, I felt the wind rushing past my face in a stream of colours and rain. But I had retreated so far back in my own head, it was like I was watching from above. I was so very out of my mind, that when my teeth sank into the old man's neck, ripping a chunk off and burying my face in the torrent of hot, luscious blood, no part of me ever tried to tell me it was anything but perfectly natural. I drank voraciously, swallowing back huge mouthfuls and gulping it down so fast I almost had to vomit it back up again in the frenzy. It dribbled down my face and splashed over my hands, and thrills of euphoria were singing through me in the most magnificent symphony.

Panting shallowly, I took a few steps back once he was drained. The ecstasy had shot straight to my head and I was dizzy with the rush. My sight had gone a little hazy as the red made its way home in my eyes, gushing over the virulent black in a strange sort of benediction. Everything seemed brighter and more beautiful once I was freed from the shackles of temptation; the world was a glorious place.

I fell to the floor as all sensation fled from my limbs in conscious, psychedelic surrender. I eyed the body warily and pushed myself a little more upright, cross legged in front of him. Absentmindedly I sucked a few last drops from between my toes. The moon was bright and my senses were even more powerful than usual, so the whites of his eyes were gleaming silver.

It struck me that I was happier, more at peace than I had ever been since I had been changed. My mind was freewheeling, spinning all over the place as the blood coursed through me, sparking like cocaine.

And really. . .

I had never questioned Carlisle and his bizarre moral code, because he had caught me half mad after my transformation and I never would have wanted anything else. But this body was driving me to feed like my old body wanted me to breath. His charade of normality was just a half-existence, and honestly . . . I didn't think my thirst would ever fade. Because he could manage his within about a year on his own. And I was hardly better than I was in my first week in Chicago.

In the heat of the fury it had all come spilling out inside his head, all the thoughts he had never allowed to cross his mind. Shame and anger and endless frustration – he screamed at me, cursed the day he let himself be taken in by a dying woman's last, delirious words.

I was angry with myself for being so naive to think that his patience and love was anything other than a mask.

In the grand scheme of things, what did I owe him? All he had caused me was pain and misery and now he clearly had this Esme woman to keep him company . . .

I pulled tufts of grass apart in my fingers and suddenly all I could remember was his hands tight around my chest, the vicious way he snarled at me and the look of pure loathing on his face. This was Carlisle – I was fairly sure he had never actually hated anyone in his life, but at that moment, it felt like four hundred years worth of rage was being fed into me through his eyes and strengthened a thousand times over by his thoughts.

He wanted to kill me.

I rested my face on my hands glumly. There were still traces of that heady scent, lingering and teasing, so licked over my palms, sucking on my fingers in childish defiance of everything he had taught me.

When he first saw me that night, every inch of him was preoccupied with mild concern, but mostly just confusion. When he had seen _her_, it had all changed.

I knew Esme Evenson before of course. Every night he broadcasted some waffle to me, whilst furtively indulging in fretful memories and worry in his subconscious – over the last few weeks especially, everything had been tinged with a fragile scent, delicate face, mesmerising brown eyes, free of every sin.

He loved her. I didn't know if he knew it himself, but he did. And good for him - there wasn't any being walking the earth who deserved love more than Carlisle. But she was human and this was a catastrophe and what the hell was she doing on our doorstep anyway?

I sprawled out on the forest floor, leaning back on my hands. I too glutted to move for the present but I had to decide where to go when I did.

I didn't really know any other vampires. He promised to introduce me to some other covens when I was ready, but because a vampire's thoughts were so overwhelming, and no one else was as level headed as Carlisle, I had decided to wait. I knew about the Volturi – they would certainly take me in, with my power. Or I could just run. It wouldn't be difficult for me to find which of the humans deserved to die, and I could survive on my own just fine.

But I would have to get rid of the corpse first.

With a certain amount of unwillingness I turned to look at it. He had been corpulent and rich, his blood was stronger than any other I had tasted. But as my fingers skimmed over his face, repulsion stirred inside of me. I pushed his glassy eyes closed, stopped him watching me.

There was a wedding ring hanging loosely off his broken, desiccated finger.

I would write to Carlisle, I would leave and I would write my excuses, my best wishes, my sincerest apologies. I would wish him well. Esme too, because if he loved her she was probably at least a little bit wonderful.

My stomach lurched uncomfortably as I remembered an image which had flashed through his mind: as he ran through the forest he had pictured Esme in my arms, screaming his name in a last, pitiful shriek before I sank my teeth into her neck, severing her windpipe in a spray of blood which dribbled down my chin in thick, vivid rivulets - he howled at me to stop, sobbing, but I just smirked over her corpse and dashed away.

Self consciously I rubbed at the tiny puncture marks on my own neck. They glimmered a little in the moonlight, but were virtually undetectable by human eyes. I fully admit Carlisle had been incredibly strong to do what he did - I could never have managed it, no one could have. His own scar was a testament to that. Almost always it was covered with a scarf – but once he had whipped it off for a makeshift tourniquet at work and came home with his neck bare, so I could sneak a glance when he thought I wasn't looking. It was much larger and darker than mine, spanning from just under his ear to down below his collar. Messy spiderwebs of scarring glinted in bold tangles, teeth marks and lacerations and dragging white gashes told clearly of his difficult transformation. His thoughts were preoccupied with nothing but uneasiness, shame, hot headed embarrassment – as soon as he walked in he had hurried up to his room to find something to cover it with and hope that I hadn't noticed. It was a shock, to find Carlisle so insecure about something – but less of a shock that it was this.

Quietly, I picked up the corpse and took it over to some trees where I began to dig a hole with my hands, clean and white now. I couldn't stand him looking at me anymore, and the least I owed Carlisle was the chance to stay here without being driven out by a suspicious body found by an early morning hiker. But the deeper I dug, the heavier the guilt piled on top of me as my mind began to come back to me.

Somebody's father, somebody's son, somebody's brother, somebody's friend – my guilty midnight snack.

Oh God that was a_ person. _

I looked down at my hands in horror and disbelief and wondered what on earth I had been doing for the past hour. The feverish tone to my thoughts was fading and I was left with scarlet tinted eyes and a drained carcass – I had made that irredeemable slip that would stain my eyes for a month or so, my soul forever.

The man was suddenly very heavy in my arms.

I let him fall to the ground as my thoughts began to unravel and tie together into memories, my hands pressing hard on my temples to push them faster. The flood of thirst, the desperate way Carlisle had ripped me from the house, from the mistake I was about to make, his hands on my throat - he hated me, and rightly so. I had almost killed the girl he had spent so long trying to protect, the girl he . . .

I threw the body into the hole, pushed the dirt back over it. And then I started to run.

_-_

_**A/N**__ – Oh I've missed my Edward, I do love writing him. And the scarf thing is my personal canon. _

_Please review! :D_

_**PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT - ATTENTION ALL UK/EUROPEAN TWILIGHTERS.** The best convention company in the world, Massive Events, are running their fourth Twilight convention this October in Birmingham. They have already booked FIVE guests including __PETER FACINELLI__ (!!!!!!!), CAMERON BRIGHT and ALEX MERAZ. They are in discussions with two more, (Elizabeth Reaser and/or Jackson Rathbone thankyouplease) who they will be able to get if the event sells out (hence why I am indiscriminately plugging) and there aren't many tickets left. I have done three conventions with them (including Eternal Twilight 2), and have another this weekend actually – and they are __**phenomenal**__. You will meet the most awesome guests, and the most awesome friends (and me! I'm going and I'd love to meet some Carlisle/Esme fans), they are unique in that no matter how big the con gets they still keep things incredibly intimate and ridiculous amounts of fun. Not to mention the talks are legendary and it's probably worth going for the parties alone. So pleasepleaseplease check out Massive Events, Eternal Twilight 4: A New Dawn – the filter won't let me add a link, but Google it. __I hope to see you there and feel free to PM me with any questions! :) _

_(Peter Facinelli!)_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Carlisle_

She had woken up at about eight and jumped to her feet, seized with the most terrible panic.

"Carlisle I've got to get home _now._"

I looked up at her wild, bloodshot eyes and reached out to take her hand.

"No you don't."

We could go anywhere, and she knew I would do anything. But she didn't move.

"Esme, whatever he says he'll do-"

"It's not a bluff, I – last summer he - please can we just . . ."

She was pleading with me and it was making me feel sick.

"OK but tell me while we walk."

{-}

Once I had accompanied her home and come back to my resolutely empty house, I allowed myself to unravel a little. I threw the mug against the wall without thinking, dashing it into a thousand shards with a flick of my wrist. It didn't help much.

Esme and Edward. Esme and Edward. It was more than a bad hand of cards, there was some cosmic force designating them to misery without respite. Everything I tried seemed to backfire. They each deserved the world and I wanted to give it to them, but all I could manage was occasional hand holding and sympathy at appropriate junctions.

I paced through the house trying to figure out a plan of some description. The first thing would be to go and find Edward because I wasn't sure whether he would make his own way home after the way I had treated him that night, the things I had let slip through my thoughts. But I couldn't bring him back just yet, the whole of the sitting room was drowning in her syrupy scent. If my throat was itching, it would be torture for him and I _could not_ and _did not_ blame him. If I stood any chance of regaining his trust, I would have to be extraordinarily careful.

I gathered the stained blankets in my arms, pausing for a moment, breathing in deeply. There was a long strand of caramel hair clinging to a corner, and smudges of red on the musty grey, but most of all the scent – it was infused with her presence, it was proof she had been here and I was loathe to discard it. But I knew what I had to do, there were no two ways around it. I folded them and placed them on top of the sofa with a touch more reverence than was probably fitting. Then I pocketed a box of matches and pulled the sofa out into the back yard. As an afterthought I pulled off my shirt and trousers, throwing them on top. In the first weeks, he couldn't cope with the scent clinging to my clothes when I got home, and there was a salty damp patch on my shoulder which smelled stronger than anything else.

It was a wet morning, but I found enough dry wood, packing it around the sacrosanct little heap until I was sure it would burn well. The fire caught nicely and before long it was crackling away, spitting and snapping with invisible flames licking at the rising sun. Billows of smoke were wafting into the air, black and acrid. Except it wasn't. It smelled more of burnt sugar, flowers which had been tossed on a grave. It was like she was burning, and when I couldn't watch it any more, I disappeared inside to wait for it to end.

{-}

My own thirst was building again – that night had tested me and the blaze, magnifying her scent ten times over, was enough to paint my eyes with black. I found some clothes and the moment the fire had gutted itself, I ran.

The forest was barely there under my feet and I found something quickly – a pounce, a snap, and I had it. As I gnawed on its neck, heaved the warm mouthfuls of blood into me, I was calmed a little with my eyes dripping topaz again. But without the thirst to distract me, I had to confront it. I only thought in flashes and fragments, snapping and growling at my son, fighting and being fought against – the impact of his blows, how mine got even stronger, how he eventually surrendered and I tossed him to the ground like rubbish. I drank faster, drowning the ache in my heart with the blood.

When I was finished, I backed away a little, and opened my senses up to the world. He must be in the forest somewhere, he had nowhere else to go – he would be able to listen to me even if all I could hear was the scuffling of animals, the wind shivering through the trees.

_Edward. Edward I'm going to find you so please just make this easy for both of us and we can go home and talk this over. _

Nothing. It was all quiet. So he was still hurt, still smarting. With fair reason.

I began to run, calling in my mind.

_We don't have to talk if that would be preferable. You can leave if you want to; just let me know that you're safe. Please son, I don't care about any of that, I just need to know you're okay. Y'know, relatively. _

Yet the forest was still. He had a fair chance of evading me if he wanted to, and suddenly I felt quite helpless.

_Please Edward, you're killing me here. I'm sorry for everything I did and I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness but – you have no idea how – just let me explain. Esme, she . . . she doesn't know, she can't know. And that won't happen again I swear. I just need to know you're safe or I'll never forgive myself. Please, just – come home. Even if you don't want it to be your home anymore. _

That was it – I kicked at a tree, hard at the base, watched it fall. Then I spat on it. I couldn't tell you why. But that whole year of trying and it may have come to nothing. In one fell swoop I may have screwed things up with both of them, irrevocably.

_Edward, please for God's sake, just come home. _

I buried my face in my hands, swiped my hair out of the way. I had reached the outskirts of the forest, and I stopped, sank down to sit on a tree stump because I didn't know what to do next.

Until there was the gentlest snap of a twig behind me.

I leapt to my feet and whirled around, hoping against hope –

All I registered were his eyes. They were deep, solid scarlet, bright and full, burning with tears that could never fall.

But I had him in my arms before I could think another wretched thing.

"I'm sorry Edward, I'm sorry for everything I-"

"What?" he choked into my shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it, I just-"

He pushed me off him and with a horrible, jarring spark of a thought, I realised he might not be so open to discussion-

"What – of course I – Carlisle, I killed a man." He said, his voice raking over broken glass.

I looked at him, the shame and the crippling guilt dragging over his features.

"Well, yes I can see that."

_But one life, against the hundreds any other vampire would have taken by now – Edward you are extraordinary and if you let this ruin everything you've worked for, so help me I will- I don't even know._

"And I don't know what I can do to make up for the appalling way I treated you last night-"

"What?" he repeated, aghast and backing away. "Nothing. You let it slip – you never meant any of it, and this-"

"Edward, you can_ read my thoughts_!" I exploded. "How could you possibly think any of it was a lie? Would you want anything you were thinking at that moment, to be held against you? Because you're probably glad I didn't have access to your mind last night."

We were standing apart now, staring, and I knew this whole thing could shatter in a gust of wind.

"Now please, Edward. I love you and I want you to come home and talk this over properly."

He stared at the ground, mulling things over, and I wished I could hear what he was thinking.

"No you don't." He muttered.

I laughed hollowly. This was probably true.

"I'll come. And I'm sorry."

"For acting on the urges your body has been fighting for over a year? That one I won't accept."

I grabbed his arm and we walked home. Slowly. And the tension eased a little but he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Carlisle, why is it OK for me to kill a passing stranger, but not her?"

I stopped.

"Edward, don't ask me to justify it because I can't." I said simply.

He shook his head.

"You love her."

"I – what?"

I was slightly stunned at the bald, toneless quality of his statement more than anything else. And I tried to pull some coherent thought together, but really, how does one differentiate love from any other sort of-

"Don't try to diagnose this Carlisle, it's not a science. You just do."

Well. It was certainly a possibility. I just always assumed (from too many substandard novels I expected) that there would be an epiphany or sorts, and then I would know. But apparently not if I were to believe my son, who probably did know more about the whole blasted thing than me.

"OK." I said tentatively. "Is this a problem?"

He shrugged.

"Might be."

My heart sank, but everything seemed to be easing so I let go of his arm. He continued to walk beside me and I sighed in relief.

"Carlisle, I don't think this – hunger, I don't think it's ever going to go away."

My boy's voice was cracking and it was painful for me to hear.

"It will. I promise."

He scoffed a little, but I like to think he believed me at least a little. The sun had risen, and the morning was looking better than the night before.

"What are you going to do about the girl?" he asked tentatively.

I shrugged.

"I don't know. It's . . . complicated."

I mulled over it all in my mind, as calmly as I could manage, to show him as much as I knew. However I was careful to concentrate on the smell of the grass and the trees. He nodded after a moment.

"That it is."

_**A/N**__ – Is this working at all? I think I'm getting more comfortable with dialogue but it's hard to tell from my end. :p Please leave a review, it's my birthday!!_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

The next few weeks passed in a handful of letters: two stuffed in Carlisle's desk drawer, one tucked under Esme's mattress and another in a little heap of ash sitting discreetly in the fireplace.

* * *

Dr. Cullen,

I am writing to inform you of an official complaint lodged against you last Monday by a Mr. Charles Evenson. Since you have not turned up for work this week, appear to have ignored previous letters and did not answer your door on either of the times I attempted to get hold of you at home, I shall detail the matter below and we can discuss it in full when you see fit to return.

Apparently you have been seeing Mr Evenson's wife Esme for regular appointments throughout her pregnancy which ended last week. Despite the fact that this is unusual in itself, the administrative staff were at a loss to confirm the specifics – all they had were vague details, few of which corresponded. However according to Mr Evenson you were seeing her frequently – far more so than would be typical for an uncomplicated pregnancy. He suggests you were making inappropriate advances, attempting to lure her into some illicit affair of sorts – and when she became uncomfortable with you, you insisted, turning to blackmail to keep her quiet. She confessed all of this to Mr. Evenson in considerable distress last week and confirmed it had been happening for several months now, since you first treated her for an unrelated accident. I need hardly remind you that over the past few years you have been the doctor in charge of the emergency room and that this unprecedented shift into obstetrics is both irregular and undocumented. Mr Evenson is understandably quite troubled, and recalls seeing you at their home more than once.

May I stress that this is a very serious accusation and it shall be pursued to the highest levels necessary. Ordinarily with an exemplary record such as your own, I would be far more sceptical of matters – however your recent conduct and lack of response has forced me to put things in a much more serious context. Compromise is a two way street Dr. Cullen, and if I hear nothing by the end of next week I will be forced to revoke your license until further notice. I urge you to contact the hospital as soon as possible. If there is a second side to this story, I need to know now because as things stand, I have very few options. Mr Evenson is a particularly influential man, and more than your own reputation is at stake here.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. T. Ferrars

Head of St Michael's Hospital

* * *

Carlisle,

I'm sorry to trouble you at home, but I need to explain something and I couldn't think of another way to find you. Oh God I hope this gets to you before the hospital does – I'll scribble everything down, so you might have some chance to prepare some kind of defence if you do get this first.

He saw you leaving, and he recognised you from that last time – and then he wanted your name. Obviously I didn't give it to him, but he was quite insistent and I tried to lie but he can always tell and I'm so so sorry Carlisle but he got it out of me. And he's just left for the hospital, he's gone to tell them you've been trying to seduce me or something ridiculous and I don't even know – but whatever it is, they'll listen to him because he donated a load of money to them last year and they'll do anything to keep on his good side. He's been anticipating something like this for years so he's had his strategies in place, he knows all the right people.

I don't know how far he's going to push this, but please don't try and fight him – he will find any weakness, any secret, and he'll never ever stop. Please just . . . I don't know. But I am so sorry and I don't know how I am ever going to atone for this because you were only ever trying to help. You did help, you were wonderful.

And if this is goodbye – just . . . thank you. You brought me peace for the first time and I don't know what I would have done without you these past few months.

If I can be so bold as to ask for one last irrational kindness, please don't write back. He reads my mail. (I don't think I could cope with it anyway.)

With love,

Esme

* * *

Dear Esme,

I am so sorry it's taken me this long to get back to you. I had to leave town for a week – family crisis – and now I hate that I've left you thinking that I blame you for so many days.

Never ever even let that thought cross your mind – he's an evil, bitter, vindictive man but that's nothing we didn't already know. I can cope with any accusations he feels like throwing – I've always dealt with worse, and the absolute worst case scenario is that I lose my medical license. And I don't care – I can wait until you're ready to come with me, and then I'll leave.

I haven't spoken to Dr. Ferrars yet (I just got back three minutes ago) but I shall be heading down there immediately – he rather considerately sent me a letter with every detail I could have wished for. There is nothing there I cannot talk my way out of and I know the doctors will be on my side whatever they say. I've earned their trust over the years, and I'm a good enough doctor that they would sooner support me than take this as an opportunity to throw me out.

Thank you for saying those things you did – they mean more than I could possibly articulate. And thrilled as I am to think that I've shone something of a light into your life – I'm even more upset that you won't consider my offer again. I wouldn't let him find us. Please Esme, just trust me.

And never doubt that I will ever be any less than  
Very sincerely yours,

Carlisle

P.S - I know you said I couldn't write, but I didn't post it. However if I could ask one thing of _you_ – the moment you ask how this letter got under your pillow, I will have to stop. So please, for both of our sakes, just let it be.

* * *

Mrs Evenson,

Firstly I will make it clear that this letter is going to go in the fire the second I'm done with it. I don't even know how to make a fire, but I'm sure it can't be overly complicated.

My name is Edward Cullen. You don't know me. But I'm sorry for what I almost did. I'm even more sorry for existing, when if I didn't then Carlisle would probably have saved you by now. Or damned you. I've caught him thinking about it – I'm not sure even he realises what he was doing but he thought it for a flash last week and I need to tell you to run before he gets you.

Or perhaps don't. Because I've heard you too, and maybe an eternity with Carlisle wouldn't be the torment it is for me.

But either way, I just want to apologise unreservedly for standing in the way of everything. Even though you won't read this.

I don't even think you know I exist – I was listening to you a little while ago, we were both at our homes – you were far enough away that I could deal with it, but close enough that I could see. And the daydreams you were painting – don't worry, I don't judge you, cope any way you can – they were so perfectly storybook. And they had _your_ son in, but not me. So I don't think he's told you because you seem too nice to just write me out, and you've never thought of me anyway.

But I can't really blame him for keeping quiet.

Anyway. Basically Mrs Evenson, I think you're going to make Carlisle very happy if I go. And thank you because he deserves it. And I should be out of your way as soon as I can manage on my own.

Hold out until then please.

Edward Cullen

* * *

_**A/N** - Thank you for your reviews to the last chapter, I really appreciate them and they are the best prod to get writing! Any thoughts on this one?_

_I did have a lovely birthday - thank you for the messages - and received two illustrations to this fic which pretty much made my life. They are both insanely beautiful because my sister is an extraordinary artist, and they will be linked in the next chapter. She's still tweaking my favourite one so I can't scan them in just yet. But they are ohmygodperfect and I can't wait to share them with you all. :)_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

Life shuddered back to normal, but I can't say I really took much notice. I followed my old routines because I didn't know how to do anything else. When the dust settled it was all I was left with - walking through endless, circling days, alone.

With a dull, detached sort of feeling, I knew that I had made my bed and now I had to lie in it. The opportunity had been there but I didn't dare grab it, paralysed with fear. And now I was left with nothing but half lost memories. Carlisle couldn't risk coming anywhere near town - everyone was watching us now, and the trouble I would be in if he was spotted was unthinkable.

No one had spoken to me civilly in months. The only human contact I had was harsh words, harsher touches. And I wasn't strong enough to dream him back beyond a whisper whenever I was hurting more than usual through a long, dark night.

{-}

The first letter was already faded with the amount of times I had tugged it out from my mattress, pressed it flat to read and reread. I almost knew it by heart, but there was something about the sweeping curves of his handwriting under my fingers, the way the ink spattered as he had hurried, the thickening in the lines near the end as he slowed, precisely arching around my name in painstaking kindness. _("Trust me Esme.")_

Occasionally I would give in to a tumbling, freewheeling moment and I almost let myself do it, almost let myself think "That's it then," and run. It was a wonderful feeling until logic caught up with me. But even so, every time I saw the words I felt a shadow of the flooding relief that had overwhelmed me when I first found it, all that crushing guilt sliding off my shoulders – I heard his voice murmur the passages on the page, the last drifting echoes of words he'd never spoken.

It wasn't just one letter through. I had woken up a few days after with another sheet of paper inexplicably tucked in my fist, filled with more fraught reassurance and news. According to that, and scraps I'd picked up from the loud shouty men who occasionally stormed through the house, he had kept his job by a whisker but had been moved to some specialist department with no opportunity to see outpatients.

Also, I was banned from St Michael's according to Charles, but Carlisle said I wasn't to hesitate to go to Accident and Emergency if I ever needed to because he had friends working there who would turn a blind eye if necessary. I'll admit it was a tempting proposition, but I knew he would be more upset if he worked out I'd deliberately slipped from the promise I made to stay safe, so I trod carefully and avoided everything I could.

He wrote once or twice a week, which was enough to keep me a little more tied to my own sanity. Even though I couldn't reply, he seemed to know what I was doing and thinking with accuracy which was more soothing, and less alarming than it really should have been.

I tried hard not to wonder – each time he noted in a little postscript, the same warning not to ask. Every morning I woke up with tentative anticipation drifting through me and with the utmost care I would sweep my hand under my pillow like a child waiting on some fairy dust in exchange for a tooth. On those blessed days I was rewarded, I would slip out of bed, hurrying through to the bathroom to read.

It was worth waking up for sometimes, worth dragging myself out of painless nights and bizarre dreams. Sometimes I jolted awake at four in the morning, determined to catch him, but the closest I managed was once when the window was open, curtains flapping as a freezing wind whirled through the room. I found myself faintly worried about how insecure our house clearly was, but it was a worthy trade off, and the only step I took was to darn the fraying edges in my nightdresses.

{-}

My days were far less interesting. I couldn't really go out much – occasionally I had to accompany Charles to some function, digging out pinching heels and dusty dresses to smile in a sweet, narcotized sort of fashion; but aside from that, I couldn't see the few friends I'd gathered and they weren't prepared to mention anything. They carried on without me, meeting for tea or a matinee, and if my sudden reclusiveness made its way into their gossipy circles I didn't hear about it.

I didn't grieve for their company as much as I thought I would – more than anything I missed their children, scurrying about our ankles giggling and singing, scrambling up trees with the sort of reckless abandon I couldn't remember ever possessing. Whenever I heard a shout over the fence my heart tugged and the child I had lost became more real for me than it ever had before.

Charles was the one to shake me from the surreal, smoky sort of grief which trapped me for a time. Mourning for a child who never breathed was indescribable and I couldn't hold the facts and the maybes straight in my own head let alone try to articulate them. But it didn't take long before I realised that it was probably for the best because now, in the cold light of morning without rainbow tinted daydreams colouring my foresight, I knew I couldn't bring a baby into this mess.

Constantly I told myself that one day I would have a child of my own, but I feared it would be the same sort of unreachable "one day" that I would break free altogether: the day I had been fooling myself with for years.

It never really occurred to me that it might happen again for real, so it crept up on me for the longest time before anything settled into place.

{I was in the kitchen one afternoon just scrubbing out some pans. And even in retrospect it was nothing terribly melodramatic, but a wave of nausea crashed into me, roiling through my stomach – I grabbed onto the tabletop, shut my eyes and waited for it to pass. That was the moment something clicked, however much I tried to ignore it, and the most irresistible, impossible conclusions glimmered a little way out of sight. I chided myself for being so stupid and tried to push the inarticulate little jump of hope and fear from my mind.

Over the next few weeks my body began to betray me slowly, aches stirring in odd places, dizzying flushes and moments of engulfing drowsiness. I ignored it methodically, pushing every gleam of a "_what if_" aside. I didn't last long though; eventually I couldn't help but confront it. And I found myself slumped on my bedroom floor, counting on my fingers until my head was spinning.

{-}

It shouldn't have been such a surprise exactly. What did I know? I should have asked Carlisle whilst I had the chance, he could have told me how soon I should . . . but this was just silly. And wrong. And please God not happening because it would end the same way and I couldn't do it, I couldn't sit back and let him murder another baby. My baby.

Carlisle had said . . . well, lots of things. It had been the last clinging moments of the most wretched night of my life. But watery sunlight had been threatening to spill over the horizon and blot out the shadows, and he was walking in step beside me, holding my hand.

At first I hadn't said much. He understood completely, filling the silence with his voice so wonderfully – it was mellifluous, smoothing over all the hurt until I could barely feel a thing. And he was careful with his questions – he had me talking quietly, gathering every scrap of information he wanted without making me feel as if I was speaking at all.

I told him things I'd never admitted to anyone before, not least to myself. Gently he teased it out of me, stories of threats and escape routes and failed attempts. The carefully constructed traps and my family back home. Long days and longer nights. I watched him store it all away in his mind, noticing the flashes of anger which occasionally tried to splinter the carefully constructed calm in his eyes.

He made half a dozen promises he wouldn't be able to keep. And after a little while I lost the will to persuade him out of trying, because that's what hope does to a person.

Saying goodbye was the worst part, so we didn't. He just wrapped me in his arms for a moment, and I shut my eyes, inhaled his scent, pretended this was normal. Aware it might be a last time, I had tried to gather it all in a memory, the exact feeling of his hands curled around my sides, my face buried in his shoulder, his nose in my hair, my own snuffling breath the only thing between us. I felt him freeze and pull me closer, our shadows melting into each other. I was safe and snug and whole and the world could have ended around me without a twitch. But he was the one who let go first.

"Esme he's there." He muttered, ghosting his hand over my face one last time. I didn't open my eyes, that would be tantamount to admitting this was only a moment snatched from someone else's life. We held on to it for as long as we could but it had to shatter, he had to run without another word.

Even now I can almost feel his fingers drifting over my cheek, skimming along my neck before he jerked away. His hands were always unnaturally cold on the rare occasions I encountered them ungloved, yet I never even thought to explain it away to circulatory problems or whatever – he was just Carlisle and I could readily forgive him his quirks. A warm embrace does nothing for me now; my version of love is a calm, cooling salve on a feverish soul.

And even though dread was pooling in my stomach, I couldn't help but let myself believe for a second, that maybe there was some amount of hope to be salvaged from the situation – that maybe he could make good on his promises. He said he could find me somewhere safe. He said he would leave with me. He said there wouldn't be anything in the world that could stop us. And he said that I would just have to say the word.

{-}

The moon was bright above me and the sky spinning with possibilities as I snaked my arms around my stomach. It stung how familiar this scene was. But this would be different.

I wouldn't be so weak this time, I would make it work. And I think (_I think_) I could be brave enough to do what needed doing a long time ago.

This would finally be the catalyst for something good.

_**A/N – **__Eeek. I don't even know any more. Feedback would mean the world because I am unnecessarily terrified about this chapter and I don't even know why, hence the lag in posting time. (Sorry!) _

_Anyway, important stuff – two birthday present illustrations are linked in my profile! (The filter won't let me post here.) It's well worth a click because they really are beautiful. Like, insanely so. And everything I've ever not been good enough to write but in pencil-portrait form. Go take a peek! I will be happy to pass on any gushy comments and hope you love them as much as I do. ^_^_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Carlisle_

Everything was different. Edward and I both felt it, even though the routine of our days, the conversations, the daily struggles were still the same. There was a constant wordless sense of unease tingling in the air, though her scent had long since faded – just a skittish sort of tension neither of us were willing to address. It had taken long enough for the silence to break after that horrible night, we weren't prepared to jeopardise what little we had regained, more content to dance around it and pass the time in awkward silence.

I suspected it was my fault. Those months were an awful sort of interlude where all I could do was wait and write and pore over the emergency room admissions records in paranoia. Every time I tried to speak to Edward he would soon become frustrated with the endless, nervous twitches in my mind, the flashes and distractions pulling me away – he couldn't cope with me, and I didn't blame him. I felt awful for taking away his last snatch at peace and respite, but I felt worse for Esme.

I had barely seen her awake in months. All I had were those snatched moments slipping into her bedroom and out again – at first I felt like some sort of sexual predator cum burglar, but soon I learnt to treasure that time as much as possible. I hadn't realised how much I had come to rely on her. A smile or a laugh – it was soul candy, pure and simple. But now I had to live on a shadowy, moonlit minute once a week, watching her get gaunter and sicker, the shadows dragging her down further every time.

Sometimes I would find her trapped in a dream, twisting about in the sheets with a whimper catching in her throat and her eyelashes fluttering. It was all I could do to leave without her on those nights. But I would smooth the hair off her sweaty forehead, watch as the grimace slid from her features, feel a soft sigh on my fingertips. It wasn't enough, but it was something. And I would leave, without resting so much as a fingertip on the grunting mass next to her, throwing a shadow over her curled up form, because in a moment of foolishness I had promised her I wouldn't. That was worse than anything.

Three times I had asked Edward what she was dreaming of and three times he had evaded the question, refusing to meet my eye.

It was a sticking point. I knew he listened to her, he tortured himself over the possible consequences of that night – I didn't need to read his mind to know that. He had barely left his room until the red had faded enough to a dusky shade of orange, drinking the forest dry to drive it out faster – and he wouldn't talk about it, wouldn't share anything with me because of some misguided moral code he had strung together out of suppositions and guilt.

"It's not your God given right to know what she's thinking." He argued on one of the rare nights he was prepared to address the matter.

"It's been months, I-"

"Carlisle I won't. It's not my decision what she tells you and it's not yours either. It wouldn't be fair."

"Edward none of this is fair. I need to know what to . . . she's not leaving the house."

"So you're stalking her now." He said hotly.

"Don't be so immature."

"She doesn't want you to know." He snapped.

"And what makes you so sure of that?"

"Because she doesn't- "

His voice had risen to a shout, but he cut it off, pulled it back. He looked intently at me for a moment, weighing up what he could trust me with. I hated that he had that power to do so.

_Please Edward. _

I watched him settle on something, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

"Because that's it." he said flatly. "Every single day – "Thank God Carlisle didn't see that" "At least Carlisle isn't here." "I don't know what I would do if Carlisle ever saw me like this.""

I broke his gaze, stared at the floor.

_I'm sorry. _

"I know."

{-}

When I heard his footsteps on the corridor, I dared to smile a little. He hadn't come in to see me of his own accord for days now, fully accepting I was now more of a tempest than an oasis, and I was missing his quiet company.

_Good evening._

By the time I glanced up he was in the room, striding towards me. Quickly I put down my pen – something was wrong. The gentle frown that normally played over his features had deepened and he was wringing his hands, fidgeting, searching for words he didn't want to say aloud.

_Tell me. _I thought instantly, commanding and clear because this wasn't going to be anything good.

"It's Esme."

My heart jumped and I involuntarily conjured a thousand horrible scenarios - he jerked away in shock.

"Stop that!"

"What is it?" I demanded.

"She's okay, I swear. But she's pregnant."

_I . . . what? Oh hell . . . _

I won't pretend anything more eloquent than that occurred to me – vague, hurried images from the last time flashed through my mind, dizzyingly fast and bright, but nothing even slightly coherent.

"Are you sure? I mean, is she sure?" I blustered, on my feet now.

"I've suspected for a couple of weeks now, she only worked it out this evening."

He was speaking calmly, acting the perfect messenger with an impassive face.

"Well is she pleased? What's she-"

_Just tell me._ I begged silently.

"She tried not to believe it for a little while because she didn't want to pin her hopes on anything. And now she's over the moon because she didn't think she'd have the opportunity again. But she's terrified and trying to decide what to do."

I turned to look at him, searching for confirmation of what I thought I'd heard.

"But she wants to do something? She's prepared to move?"

"Determined. But she's changing her mind every moment, I don't know what she's planning exactly."

I nodded, hope and happiness bursting into blossom in my chest, and I found myself beaming. Maybe I would visit tomorrow, set something in motion – but my endless pleas and persuasions seemed to have worn away a spot of hope, and finally she might be prepared to trust me.

"Brilliant."

He cracked a faint smile.

"I know."

He found his space in the chair again, settling back down and for the first time in a long time, everything flowed a little easier. He didn't seem to mind that I was horrendously distracted, he didn't even try and talk. Perhaps he was just basking in my delight, I don't know. But it was wonderful and somehow I thought we might be able to grab on to that happily ever after – Edward was so close to being ready for human company, and I could dance between the two of them for as long as I needed to, as long as they were both reasonably happy and healthy – it could work and it could be perfect.

Perhaps those dreams were greedy, perhaps they jinxed something. Maybe some cosmic balance had to be restored because of course it couldn't last. It was like catching smoke.

Even from the other side of the room I felt Edward stiffen, his hands clenching.

I froze, suspending every spark of hope in the air and forgetting to breathe.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't move.

"Edward?" I demanded.

"One second." He barked, turning away to concentrate on something I couldn't see or hear.

I watched fearfully, the arch of his back painfully taut as he lent forward, pressing his hands over his eyes.

And then he snapped upright, in front of me in an instant.

"She's coming."

Panic surged through me like a wave, submerging every part of my brain and suddenly all I could see was blood.

"Here?"

He nodded, fear sketching quickly over his face.

"Carlisle you said she'd never-"

"I know I'm sorry I-"

"Twenty minutes."

Oh God – the panic made him look so young and I had to fight every instinct not to grab his hand and run him out to the next state. His eyes were flickering over everything as he tried to filter through the voices in his head for the one we wanted, the golden yellow he cherished suddenly dangerously at risk. I couldn't send him out by himself again, not after last time. But Esme . . .

I knew perfectly well what I had to do. What I was going to do. But I hated it with every fibre of my being, and the words almost choked me as I asked him to do what I swore I never would.

"Please will you do this for me just once and then I promise I- she- it won't . . ."

"You promised last time."

He swept his eyes over me in a searching look, and I felt as if I was answering a thousand questions he had never screwed up the courage to ask.

Don't. He begged me silently, don't choose her. But I said it anyway.

"Please."

I couldn't watch as he ran.

{-}

I went outside to wait for her. We lived in a secluded little spot with the forest on one side and a farm on the other, the town was a short walk across the countryside. Esme would be coming along the meandering path through the fields, and I wanted to catch her before we reached my house. If there was anything I could do for Edward I was determined to do it, and infusing the place with her unmistakable scent would surely be nothing but salt in the wound.

The moon was waxing white and casting everything in a glimmering light, the stars brighter than I'd seen in years. I tried to let go of Edward, to concentrate on how to best not mess this up, but I was being pulled between guilt and absolute delight and relief – it was worse somehow knowing he was sitting in a tree somewhere, listening to me.

_I'm sorry Edward. _

I wandered over to the river which cut across the farmland – there was only one bridge so I knew she would be passing through that way, it would be easy to distract her away from my home. It was difficult not to let anticipation and delight overwhelm me completely, I knew I was going to see her, awake and happy and healthy, I was going to hear her voice, see her smile – it was going to be like the last few months had never happened and she was almost here. The faintest, wisp of a scent was trailing on the breeze.

Midnight had come and gone when I spotted the figure on the horizon, striding across the path, almost tripping over her own feet in haste. My heart lurched at the black silhouette, and I found myself walking – probably faster than I should have been – towards her.

I couldn't make out very much at first but soon I was close enough to see the secretive smile playing at her mouth, soon I was close enough for her to see me too. Her mouth fell open in surprise, her eyes wide in astonishment – I savoured her reaction, grinned back and waved before starting to run.

She laughed a little, and it caught on the wind like a song – I had to go torturously slowly, but as I got closer I could see the pink blush colouring her face in exhilarated joy, the freckles dusting her nose, the purple ribbon in her hair almost blowing off in the wind – she was here and real and in one last second, she pulled me into a hug.

"Carlisle," she sighed into my ear.

The longing in my soul was swept aside by that word and I think we were both shaking a little. I breathed her in, drawing scents of honey and lemongrass and snow clawing at my throat – she buried her face in my shoulder for a moment, clutching me so tight I was almost convinced this was real.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in giddy confusion. "Not that I- I was just coming to see you . . ."

I took her hand, stepped back to look at her properly. She was holding herself slightly lopsidedly, and there was a purplish bruise peeking out from her coat, but there was nothing I couldn't put right. I let myself breathe freely for a moment, sniffing at the air to carefully sift through the smooth blend of scents – Edward was right, the extraneous tang of chemicals was more than a faint undercurrent now, she was two months or so down the line.

"Insomnia. How are you, why . . .?"

I let the question fall into the night unasked. I wanted her to have this moment.

"I'm going to have a baby."

She looked up at me with shining eyes, and it wasn't until afterwards that I noted her phrasing which was deliciously determined. I pulled her into another hug, not trusting myself to articulate anything properly.

"And I wanted to tell you I'm going back to Ohio to stay with my second cousin in Cincinnati." She said breathlessly.

I couldn't do anything except laugh and pull her closer. This was better than anything I could have dreamt. Everything seemed to be moving very quickly – yesterday she was a thousand miles away, now I couldn't keep her close enough.

"Wonderful. Is there anything you need me to take care of?"

"I . . . I took enough for a train ticket, but I had to go before he came home from the pub. But the train goes really early and I wanted to see you before . . ."

"Of course. Thank you."

I slipped her hand in mine and we began to walk up the path.

_I'm sorry Edward, I'm sorry but what else am I supposed to do here? Don't ask me to send her away, she hasn't got anywhere to go. And I don't want her to. I'll make it up to you somehow. Just one night and then we can talk about this properly._

"I didn't really know what I was doing. I still don't!" she laughed. "But I realized I was . . . not on my own any more. And he'd locked the house up, so I just smashed through the back window and ran here. For years I had all these careful plans and second guesses, and every other time he . . . but now . . . it's madness. I don't even . . ."

Her voice was bright and breathless, shining with her own daring and at a loss for anything. I let myself be carried off on it, away from the itching bloodlust and acidic guilt.

"He won't find you, I'll make sure. Have you got an address for your cousin?"

"Yes, I'll write it down for you."

I couldn't take my eyes off her, all I could do was watch as her eyes sparkled and her hair bounced in the breeze – every few moments her eyes flickered over to me too, just making sure I was still there. A few stumbles on the dark path, but I had an arm around her waist and she was safe with me.

"I'll find you some contingency cash for food, bribes, whatever you might need. It'll take you a few days to get all the way to Ohio."

"You don't have to do that."

"Don't be silly." I said firmly, squeezing her hand.

"The train goes at six – that'll be before he can make any progress, if he does go looking for me."

"Perfect. I'll throw him off the scent."

"Thank you."

Suddenly she stopped.

"Carlisle? You're going to be the first person they go to. He'll have the police on his side if he wants them, and he knows about . . ."

"Don't." I stroked a finger along her cheek, tried to ease the worry that had stolen over her face. "I can handle it."

"But-"

"I'll be fine."

"Thank you." She whispered.

We walked for a few more minutes, and my house began to loom on the horizon. She was quiet, and I had to wonder if she was thinking about the last time she had struggled up this path.

I began to run through the possibilities again – my promise to Edward had made me hesitant about improving the sorry situation, so they were somewhat few. I didn't have anywhere she could sleep – we didn't even have a sofa any more, I had never gotten around to replacing it. We had to avoid the bare, dusty kitchen and the bathrooms were mostly unusable, the dining room lay empty, as did two bedrooms. The sitting room was mostly abandoned now; just a cold fireplace, a couple of chairs, some books and a violin Edward had tried and tired of. He had a room which was habitable, but off limits. My study was comfortable, lived in certainly – but God forbid she ask about the macabre paintings on the walls.

I really should have learnt my lesson from the last time, but it was mostly hopeless. If I'd gotten food, heating, whatever, Edward would have known I never intended to make good on my promise.

_I did. I'm sorry. We can stay somewhere else for a few weeks while the scent clears, we can go on a hunting trip. Whatever you want. _

"This place is huge," she commented as I unlocked the front door, pulling me out of my reverie.

"Mm. I don't use most of it. But I wanted somewhere out of the way."

"Why?"

I could have brushed her off easily. But there would be questions once she got inside – now she would notice the coat hanging off the banister which was clearly much too small for me, the photograph of a teenage boy and his parents, all unfamiliar, the journals and books marked "Edward" lying all over the place. But mostly, I just didn't want to lie.

"There's something I need to tell you."

I paused for a moment, my hand on the doorknob, trying to come up with a way to phrase it that wouldn't cause alarm. But as the silence dragged on her expression grew from slightly worried to outright scared.

"Oh God you're married aren't you?" she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

"No! No, what on earth would . . .? No, nothing like that. It's just . . . I do live with someone. He's kind of my son for all intents and purposes – he's seventeen, his name's Edward. His parents died years ago in the flu epidemic, Chicago, he didn't have anywhere to go so I brought him with me."

The relief washing over her face was almost comical in its intensity – I dared not wonder what she had been thinking.

I didn't suppose Edward would care to enlighten me afterwards.

"Why didn't you mention before? He wasn't here . . . last time."

"He was away. He's not here now actually, staying with some friends in Chicago."

After all that, the lies tripped so easily off my tongue. _Sorry sorry sorry._

"Um, OK."

She seemed a little disconcerted, but noticed my reticence and didn't ask anything else.

It probably should have felt stranger that we had been so inexplicably close for so long, yet only now was she setting foot in my home – but it didn't. The place held no emotional sway for me, no attachment. It was just a building in which some awful things had happened and somewhere to hide at night.

As I led her through she looked around shamelessly, hunting out every corner of the hall and the staircase with curious eyes – I felt oddly uncomfortable, the accumulation of dust and spiders had never really bothered me before.

Her grin widened a little.

"What?" I said defensively.

"You're not married," she said teasingly.

"Lucky for you,"

I pushed open the door to my study – it was a bit of a mess, there were books strewn everywhere and my white coat was crumpled on the floor, but unless one looked closely there was nothing too suspicious. The rest I could pin on a morbid fascination with the supernatural. As it were.

"Sit down,"

I gestured to Edward's chair with a flare of guilt and went to find some wood to start a fire. When I returned she had tucked her feet underneath herself and was trying to read the titles of the books lining the walls.

She turned to me and noted the wood with a certain amount of relief I'm sure – it was freezing, the red in her cheeks and the gentle chattering of her teeth were giving her away. Humans were so easy to read. But soon I had whipped up some warmth, breathed life into the dead grate, and she wriggled out of her overcoat as I pulled my desk chair over and settled down next to her.

"So have you got everything you need?" I asked, gesturing to the small bag she had in her lap.

"I think so. Papers, money, a few clothes, some jewellery I can sell – nothing really."

I nodded, but there were gaps in her inventory. I headed over to my desk and took a fistful of banknotes from the drawer, stuffing them in an envelope. But as I did so, my hand grazed over a letter opener, and I began to wonder.

Ever since I had been taken off regular duties at the hospital, my doctor's bag had sat despondently in the corner, gathering dust instead of its usual home in my office in the hospital. But this could be useful – I strode over and grabbed it, digging through the tools and medicines for something helpful, reading a packet before tossing it aside.

"What am I going to do with a stethoscope?" she asked amusedly as I dropped one on the floor.

"Nothing."

I found what I was looking for, picked it out, then went to hand it all to her.

"You shouldn't need any of the pills, but just in case. The money's for anything you might want, make sure you find a decent guest house every night no matter how much it costs."

Slowly she put it all away in her bag.

"And the scalpel?"

I shrugged.

"My peace of mind. I don't have any more conventional weaponry."

Before I sat down again I pressed the last thing into her hand, a bundle of letter paper, envelopes and stamps.

She twisted them over in her hands, avoiding my eye.

"Thank you."

"It's not a problem, I'd just-"

"No, for the letters."

I froze, trying to remember to blink. She didn't look up, just fidgeted a little. She seemed awkward, embarrassed of her own helplessness over the last few months somehow – I just wanted to move on before she could ask any tricky questions.

"You'll need a pseudonym of sorts." I said softly, breaking the silence.

"Oh of course . . ."

The prospect seemed to please her immensely, shedding the fetters of Evenson.

"You could go back to Platt." I suggested.

"Mm, could do. My middle name's Anne."

"Lovely."

I noticed she had taken her wedding and engagement rings off and was twisting them around her fingers distractedly.

"Keep them on." I advised. "You might be able to avoid unwanted attention."

She pressed her lips together distastefully, but pushed the rings back on.

"You can be a war widow or something. Just for a little bit longer."

"Sorry?" she frowned.

"Well. This is a plan I'm coming up with off the top of my head, and don't feel any obligation because of the money or anything, and I'm feeling terribly conscious you're probably feeling quite emotional at the moment and I don't want to pressure you or manipulate that at all, so if you ever feel that you'd rather I just shut up then just tell me-"

"Carlisle," she interrupted, a fond smile flickering in her eyes. "Just say it."

"I . . ."

Oh God. I wished I could read her mind because I had no bloody idea.

"I could come with you. I mean if you wanted. But not right away because I need to wait for Edward and you need to leave as soon as possible – but I could meet you in Cincinnati and we could . . ."

I shrugged because I didn't know, and even if I did I wouldn't want to put ideas in her head she wasn't fully prepared to embrace. But I needn't have worried.

She was beaming, full and genuine – the happiness on her face almost made up for those long months, and she leant over to grab my hand.

"Thank you."

He voice was a little unsteady, but it was perfectly wonderful, daydreams of the years ahead dancing in her overbright eyes.

A small voice at the back of my mind was screaming – what about Edward? How obscenely selfish can you possibly be? But another voice told the first one to shut the hell up.

"I'll take you to the station in an hour or so, so I know you've got a ticket. And then I can come back, wait for Charles to cool off and give up. Then I can come up to your place and we can work something out."

She nodded carefully, the fire splashing orange light and shadow over every movement.

"I can spread some rumours, anything that might help throw him off the scent. In fact I'm probably more use staying here for a little while anyway." I said, trying to console myself as well as her.

"Thank you. It's probably for the best you stay – if he suspected I'd run away with you. . ." she shuddered a little. "I don't know what he would do."

"Stop worrying. I promise I'll take care of him."

She shook her head again vehemently, hugging her knees.

"You keep saying that but you don't understand. He'll be so mad . . ."

"Stop." I said firmly, pulling her towards me. "He's a brainless, spineless, vile man and I swear I'll make sure he gets what's coming to him."

"But don't let him see you, don't even-"

"Esme, darling. Don't let him poison another thought. Have you got a scarf or something I can plant somewhere incriminating?"

She was still for a moment before her hand strayed to her earrings, dainty little amethysts in a silver twist. Slowly she unhooked them, pressed them in my hand.

"Fate has always been an interesting concept for me." She said suddenly.

"I hear you." I muttered, slipping the jewellery in my pocket.

{-}

The stars were clearly aligned in my favour and dawn hadn't broken when we started out for the train station. Though I would have liked to take a proper look at her in the sunlight, it was an impossibility, and some heavenly body had the grace to allow me this last walk and a goodbye. I had fixed up every injury she had unwillingly confessed to and we had spent the night in quiet conversation, planning for every eventuality and luxuriating in the simple wealth of hope.

We were walking in step, both desperately aware of the clock ticking away to her parting. It was for the best of course – better than anything I had dared dream – but it still felt cruel. The morning breeze whispered over us, the crunch of footsteps on the path mark out our journey. It wasn't because we had run out of things to say – we both had a lifetime's worth of conversation, and a thousand things to tell the other before the train pulled out – but somehow I couldn't bring myself to risk cracking the magic with practicalities or feelings she perhaps didn't return. So we just walked, and it was like a poem.

Dread was heavy in my heart as we approached the station, but it was selfish. Irrational. This was what I'd been trying to convince her into for months now. It just seemed so soon to be pushing her on a train – alone and pregnant – and hope she'd make it to the other side of her journey in one piece.

We waited for the train in the silent shadows. There was almost nobody else about, but it wouldn't do to be seen – it was tremendously risky as it was. I had bought the ticket – even looking like I did I still drew less attention than she would have. A woman making a three day journey without a companion or even a suitcase. Better still, the elusive Esme Evenson, caught in a scandal with the local eligible doctor and never seen since.

Drizzle began to patter over the platform in a dusty spray. Wordlessly I untied my scarf and knotted it about her neck, tucking it deftly underneath her coat. She looked up at me gratefully. I knew she wasn't cold, but . . . I don't know. Suddenly the wind was icy against my exposed skin, and I resisted the urge to rub at the scar, drawing attention to it. Instead I shoved my hands in my pockets, fingering the earrings. The furtive smile dancing on her face was a thousand times worth it but as a leaving gift I probably could have done better.

When the train pulled in it was gloriously bittersweet. Her eyes darted up and down the station before she turned to me and reached up on tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek. Her lips were almost burning hot on my skin – I wanted to hug her, say goodbye properly, but there were shadowy figures lurking about on the platform now, people hurrying about with luggage and loved ones. All I could do was look for a moment, my hand under her chin as she gazed up at me with bright, liquid brown eyes.

"I'll see you soon, I promise. Be careful."

"Goodbye," she whispered, her words almost lost in my scarf.

"Go on. Don't look back." I cautioned.

She opened her mouth again, but a shrill whistle sliced through the morning air and she closed it again, the words scared out of her. We drank in one last moment – I sucked in a final gasp of honeysuckle and clouds – and she turned and scurried off.

I couldn't even bring myself to blink until she was gone, but I crossed my fingers in my pockets and dared to hope.

_**A/N**__ Reviews = good karma, my undying gratitude, and more stupendously long chapters. (For the record I honestly have no idea how that happened.)_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

As we crossed the country I began to lose all sense of time and space – shapeless days blurred into nights blurred into days, held together with daydreams and dust. The bone deep ache of cold became a constant companion, infusing with the stiffness of my limbs – every time I had to move it felt like fire as a thousand nerve endings jangled back to life. I slept in furtive little bursts, drifting off for a moment before something clanged to the floor and I would jerk awake, staring about wildly before I remembered. But it didn't do to dream too much anyway, the shadows took a while to dissipate and I couldn't stop myself seeing Charles' dark, glinting eyes on the face of the friendly farmer opposite, the twisted curl of his lip on an innocent teenage boy. As paranoia went, it was pervasive, intuitive. But it was easy enough to fold my cold hands together and pretend one belonged to someone else.

Carlisle had warned me not to speak to anyone, so I was left with my own thoughts for company, staring out of the window as the countryside trundled past. It wasn't so bad. I was used to being alone, and somehow it felt less isolated than usual. I was carrying a wonderful secret in my chest like a candle. I was going somewhere. Things were moving. Carlisle (possiblymaybeplease) missed me.

Every so often a moment from the night before drifted into my head and I would have to hide a smile, snuggling down further in my coat, his scarf. It still smelled of him a little, teasing ghosts of toffee and mint.

Of course I found myself wondering wondered what this elusive Edward was like. It was hard to believe he'd never mentioned him in all this time – but he'd told me everything I'd asked about his parents and such. It seemed like quite a Carlisle type thing to do, picking up orphans – it was actually somewhat surprising he didn't seem to have any more family, blood relatives or otherwise, but he'd evaded those questions neatly and who was I to impose. He promised he'd introduce us eventually, and surely circumstance would dictate.

The rest of the time I spent trying to pull together my memories of that night. It had been magic, but it was like I was drugged or something – I only remembered vague images, nothing coherent or sequential, all slightly smoky around the edges. Charles had left and my thoughts had tumbled away with me, I had gotten thoroughly caught up as they whirled out of control and then suddenly I was smashing the window and out of the garden clutching a pair of shoes. I had run out into the countryside, my feet taking me somewhere they knew I'd be safe before my mind could catch up at all. And he'd been there waiting – it was fated, the accumulation of every wretched prayer I'd ever uttered. He had been there, he had run, he had broken out into the most dazzling smile – the moonlight glimmered off his face like an angel, the stars so bright I thought I was dreaming.

But I could never visualise him precisely, never pretend – because even in my imagination I couldn't capture him, something I couldn't pinpoint wouldn't fall into place. It was difficult to hold it all together in my mind's eye – the lissom, gliding way he moved, the anachronisms and English inflections which surfaced in his voice from time to time, the fathomless depths behind his curious eyes. It was something instinctive which drew me in, enticing and liquid and safe. He pulled into my soul, catching me with a glance and I couldn't breathe properly.

I hadn't realised how far under my skin he had gotten until I kept seeing him out of the corner of my eye on the journey – a sweep of fair hair or a musical, rippling laugh would have me whip around like lightening before identifying some stranger. But sometimes, when the train had stopped at a platform, I could swear I saw him leaning against a pillar, watching intently through the window – but the figure always vanished before I could look properly, in a puff of smoke and rain.

I rested my forehead on the window, the coolness reassuring somehow. I was going mad, but it could be worse.

{-}

As the journey drew on, I began to wonder about Harriet. My family in Columbus had always been close – the only time I had ever seen my mother happy was when she was spending the afternoon with her clutch of sisters and cousins, and my pre-teenage years seemed to have been one long hazy summer of play. There was usually a fair gaggle of children running about, but Harrie and I had been best friends, sharing giggles and secrets and games. But she was four years older than me, and inevitably as I was making my first awkward lurches into adolescence, she got engaged and hurried off to the city with her wonderful husband Alfie. Every time she came home she was always ready with a hug and a mug of tea, grabbing me away from the rest of the family to catch up. I would pour out my grievances, she would console me and we would spend a merry afternoon abusing my parents.

Then I got married. They didn't let her come and they wouldn't let me see afterwards, I moved away before she could even see my engagement ring.

Charles kept me away from Columbus for the longest time, but eventually we were coerced into the old family gatherings. A few times a year he let me visit for a birthday or a funeral – closely chaperoned of course. But Harrie was there every time, bursting with news and happiness, dragging me off into a corner to catch up on the gossip like we used to. I listened to her stories, basked in her delight, laughed at everything I was supposed to and smiled in appropriate places. I was quieter, spinning a tale and changing the subject. Badly I'm sure, I always used to catch her whispering to Alfie and throwing worried looks in my direction. But nothing for it. Soon she was blossoming with pregnancy, more reluctant to share as I just got thinner – and my mother always managed to elbow in on our chats then, bombarding me with unsubtle hints until Harrie would leave out of sheer awkwardness. The last time I had seen her I had been presented with the most perfect little baby girl – "Megan," she had whispered reverently, placing her in my arms. She was mesmerising, squirming and peering up at me through owlish eyes – beautiful but the moment was somewhat dampened as my mother noticed me holding her and practically stamped her feet in exasperation. I had hastily handed her back, making my excuses.

Harrie had watched me leave before giving her baby back to her husband and running after me, catching me by the hand as I shut the door. She had grabbed me into a hug on the doorstep to Charles' displeasure, held me tight for a moment – close enough to whisper in my ear. "My door's always open darling." I think we both had tears in our eyes as Charles snatched my hand and walked us away.

However, that was last time. Megan was about five now, I think. When Charles' parents had died, he had lost every tie to my home, and so we had never returned. Simple as that.

One of the only things I ever remember asking him for, was to let me go to Alfie's funeral. It didn't go well as far as I recall, and in the end I didn't even manage to sneak something in the post. But I had written a long, long letter to Harrie and watched it burn. My condolences and tears went up in smoke, curling into a coil and falling into ash. I watched with unfocused eyes. Alfie had been lost in the war, the gentlest soul I'd ever met. Yet somehow Charles had returned with his limbs intact and a filthier temper than he'd left with.

All of this was playing through my mind as we crawled ever closer to Cincinnati. I hadn't seen her in years – she might not even be there, she may have moved back to Columbus after Alfie . . . but this was the only address I had and there simply wasn't another option. Even if I never saw her again, I couldn't risk running into my parents. They'd send me back or kill me outright, and having had this taste of something else, I don't know which would be worse.

{-}

It was raining. Of course it was. But the last dregs of sunlight were just clinging to the horizon as I hurried through the streets of the city, and it hadn't dampened my spirits. I mean, after that journey, being able to run along the pavement, solid beneath my feet and without a roof choking over my head was a treat. Even if I was squinting against the pellets of rain lashing at my face and soaking through my shoes. The whole place was roaring with life, water splashing over the gutters in a chattering symphony, and I couldn't stop grinning as I hurried along, hunched over folded arms as I counted the numbers on the buildings.

She had told me excitedly about the little flat they'd managed to secure the last time, waxing lyrical about the lovely neighbours and what she'd do with the place. My heart jumped a little as I spotted the right number, but I didn't stop walking until I was on the doorstep, shaking droplets out of my hair.

I tried not to think too hard, because I'd probably convince myself out of it. Just a moment, to try and remember the Esme she had known before everything. And then I caught myself trying to channel my sixteen year old self, shook my head at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, and rapped on the door before I could do anything stupid.

There was a long moment of nothing, just the thudding rain on my back. I very carefully refused to panic, listening hard for any sound inside. And thank the Lord, I heard the shuffling of a lock.

The door swung open and I had approximately one second to look – a narrow hallway and a woman with her arms full of laundry calling over her shoulder-

"Meggie, could you fetch-"

- and then she turned around to see her visitor, let the sheets fall from her arms in a gush of snowy white, and suddenly all I could see was a blur of red curls in my face as she shrieked and launched herself at me like a hurricane.

"Oh my god Esme!"

I laughed shakily as she babbled in my ear, but I didn't hear a word she was jabbering away so fast – all I knew was that it was Harriet strangling me, and I was fairly sure I wasn't caught up in some elaborate hallucination. She grabbed on to my shoulders, thrust me back a step so she could look at me with an incredulous smile, comically wide. I was fairly sure she hadn't paused for breath yet, and it was wonderful, some warm part of my heart sliding back into place.

There was a smudge of movement in my peripheral, I glanced down – and then I stared. Megan had appeared, scrutinising me and tugging on a blonde pigtail – how could this be that curious, burbling creature from so long ago? Suddenly this was dizzyingly strange – escaping from an airlock and discovering the real world had moved on far too fast.

"This is auntie Esme Megs, remember I told you about her?" prompted Harrie – comprehension dawned on her face and she smiled too.

"Hiya!" she exclaimed, reaching up to me with sticky hands.

I grinned irresistibly and took them, pulling her off her feet into a hug – her clear, high voice, sparkling green eyes – all this life I had been missing out on. I opened my mouth to speak but suddenly Harrie snatched her out of my arms. I turned and gaped, an apology already forming on my lips but-

"Not in your condition I _don't_ think!" she admonished, pulling me inside with one free arm, and slamming the door.

"What?" I exclaimed in surprise, the first full word I'd managed, and my hand strayed to my stomach defensively - instinctively. She chuckled at how very flabbergasted I must have seemed.

"Well, why else would you be standing here? Congratulations pet, now get in by the fire before you catch your death."

We had gone from being reunited after five years to admonishments via the introduction of a child and the discovery of another on the horizon, in about twenty seconds. Yes, this was Harriet, and all I could do was laugh.

{-}

There was a long, long conversation we needed to have, and my stomach was in knots just thinking about it. But a pointed look at her daughter and she had clapped her hands together and announced she was going to find me some dinner before ushering the me into the sitting room and disappearing to put Megan to bed.

I untwisted the scarf from around my neck for the first time since he had tied it there and carefully hung it with my coat to dry, slipping off my soaked shoes too. Then I staggered towards the sofa and sank into a corner, finally surrendering. I drank everything in - the room was small and irrepressibly homey in a way I had never managed - children's drawings and photographs were tacked up over the walls, playthings and books dotted over shabby furniture, scarves and throws painting colour over everything and not a scatter cushion in sight. It was deliciously warm, a fire in the grate casting out thick, comforting licks of heat and throwing light over everything. I sighed, drawing it all in and letting the shivers and tension abate. My clothes and hair began to dry and I could feel my face flushing as I thawed drowsily.

I nestled into the blankets on the sofa and let my eyes slide shut for a moment. After the arduous journey, I hadn't even confronted it, but now exhaustion was chewing at my body, a tantalising, sleepy feeling lapping at the edges of my mind. The heat of the fire and the softness caressing me was heavenly. Every last worry was slipping off my shoulders, finally the burden being lifted by angels. I could almost feel his weight on the sofa beside me, his hand creeping around mine. I think he would be proud of me.

My breathing evened out but I held onto the last remnants of consciousness, steadfastly refusing to give in to the temptation of sleep. I wanted to hold on to every last precious moment of this before he reached me in my dreams, or God forbid, in case I woke up back home.

There was a creaking at the door but I couldn't turn to look, couldn't face the exertion required. After a moment I became vaguely aware of someone by me, a soft clucking sound, then of a blanket being unfolded overhead, floating down and being tucked around me with careful hands. It was the most luxurious sort of comfort, both the soft, warm coverlet and the fact that someone had cared enough to put it there.

"'m awake . . ." I mumbled, dredging up some last reserves of coherent thought.

"No you're not," said Harriet amusedly, and I felt the cushions sink as she sat down beside me. She folded the last corners around me securely and pushed my fringe out of my face. "Don't worry Es, we can talk in the morning."

"No," I sighed, flickering back to life with heavy eyed, heavy hearted reluctance. "I can't just turn up on your doorstep without at least a word of explanation."

"Of course you can!" she scolded. "But now you're up, can I tempt you?"

Only then did I notice the plate of stew she was holding, curling tendrils of steam drifting towards me. It smelled absolutely mouthwatering, and though I hadn't noticed before, hunger was stirring in my stomach at the prospect.

She didn't wait for an answer, I can only imagine my wide eyes spoke for me.

"Thank you," I breathed as she thrust it under my nose. I pushed myself a little more upright, tugging the blanket about my shoulders – I felt a little like an ailing child, but frankly it was a role I was willing to assume.

I began to eat and it was truly wonderful – but best of all it was so hot I couldn't even touch it at first. Harrie was unusually quiet, just watching me and fidgeting with a corner of the blanket, pleating it in her fingers then letting it spring back.

"Thanks," I said again as I finished, she took the plate back and pushed it onto the side table.

We took a moment, just looking at each other quietly. She seemed to have aged more than five years, but I expect the same could be said for me. It must have been a struggle to get by after Alfie and everything . . . but she had regained that open, honest smile, the wicked twinkle in her eye that endeared her to everyone except my parents. She had endured worse than me and yet managed to keep everything I'd lost.

"I'm sorry . . ." I muttered.

"What for?" she frowned.

"Alfie . . . I tried to visit, I swear I did, but-"

"Shush now. Don't even . . . Esme honey, you don't need to justify anything. I never blamed you. I know what was happening, we always knew."

I broke her gaze, staring into my lap. It always seemed slightly shameful, any direct reference to my secret – although it wasn't a secret, sometimes it felt like there wasn't a soul who didn't know. It was just never something anyone had been able to address in polite conversation.

"I promise I won't be here long. I've got a friend who-"

"Seriously Es, stop talking rubbish. You'll stay here as long as you need. I'm certainly not letting you out of the house at least until your baby's born because you clearly don't know how to feed yourself."

I rolled my eyes affectionately, sweeping a hand over my stomach.

"No really . . ."

Suddenly we were fourteen again, at a sleepover, gossiping about boys – Harrie even went as far to fetch cocoa and biscuits, leading to a mutual fit of giggles at how silly it all was. But we talked for as long as I could bear. First she demanded every detail I could give her about Carlisle – I sketched over some of the more painful parts of the story but by the time I got to the end she was almost squealing at the dreamy look in my eyes, absurdly happy on my behalf. But she was always effortlessly perceptive – as my yawns grew more frequent but my denials of tiredness more vehement, she took over. She didn't dwell on her unhappy parts either, but the fond voice she spoke of her husband in was sadder than anything else. She could see my discomfort, and so she jumped forwards, telling me endless tales about her seamstressing business, her neighbours and friends, the life she had built in Cincinnati – but mostly about her daughter. Every story circled back to Megan, every spark of laughter, every loving smile, and I couldn't wait to meet her properly the next morning.

I was drifting for a long time, but wouldn't let myself trip into sleep's open arms – I had so many years of catching up to do it seemed unthinkable. But soon Harrie had deliberately taken hold of the conversations, her voice melodious and soothing in its fast chattering, like a brook over a patch of pebbles . . . whiteness kept sinking over my field of vision, enticing me onwards . . . and I was so warm, my body so relaxed and content. It was my mind running on its last legs now and I was losing the will to thread a lucid thought together. My eyes closed, and I couldn't stop them.

"Have you gone Es?" she whispered, ghosting her hand over my forehead.

"Mmm . . ." I murmured, curling up and twisting into the blanket a little tighter.

I couldn't fight it anymore, and if this was a dream, it had been an exceedingly pleasant one. I let myself sigh and slip under, finally surrendering to the welcome embrace of sleep.

A gentle, sighing smile quirked at my lips as I recognised the soft yellow eyes which guided my dreams.

_**A/N –**__ Reviews justify the fact I am going to fail my exams because I am spending all of my time editing out asterisks because this stupid website can't keep its coding straight and writing chapters three times longer than they were supposed to be._


	17. Chapter 17

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Carlisle_

The journey to Cincinnati had probably been unpleasant, but she was safe at least – I had watched her cousin answer the door, lurking about in the shadows with a full heart and a daft smile. Her delighted shriek had been music to my ears, the ensuing conversation everything I could have hoped for - Harriet Fletcher was everything Esme needed and I couldn't give, and I would never be able to thank her enough.

I hadn't gone home after I got back, it was late at night and I wanted to get my hours in at the hospital so I could spend the day trying to patch things up with Edward. As spring approached I had to ease back into the night shifts – not that I was allowed on the emergency ward anyway.

It wasn't that I couldn't work perfectly competently wherever I was assigned – it was just frustrating having to watch ill patients deteriorate when I knew in the emergency room I could be making a real difference. My heightened senses and refined instincts meant I could catch things early, the speed my brain and memory ran at meant I could recognise an unusual symptom from an identical case a hundred years ago. My track record was legendary, snatching people back from the brink of death because the slightest flutter of a symptom would give me the most recklessly brilliant ideas. I knew that for every day I spent with the cancer patients or on optometry or whatever, there were people suffering because the other doctors couldn't act fast enough. I didn't dare count the amount of deaths Charles Evenson had on his filthy hands down to one bitter, malicious accusation. But he had certainly gotten his way.

I missed my old friends on the ward. I missed the quiet sanctuary of my office, where I could let the mask slip for a moment. I missed being in charge, the respect I had commanded by walking into a room – my status and reputation had crumbled to dust now. The scathing looks and scandalised whispers I could live with, but when someone who was now my superior overruled my diagnoses and ideas at the expense of a patient – I could barely control my anger, ripping off my white coat and stalking off to fume silently. These arrogant children, just out of school, they had no idea – they were always fiercely determined that if they hadn't learnt it from a textbook it wouldn't work, and I couldn't go against them, couldn't make one more slip or I'd be history. So I had to watch from the side of the room as they desperately tried to resuscitate when if they'd listened to me two days ago we'd pressing a course of antibiotics into the dead man's hand and bidding him goodbye.

I had half a mind to leave – I was supposed to be pushing thirty and I knew it would be a welcome move from the managers' perspective, they'd been hinting keenly for a long time now. My sullied reputation rubbed off on theirs and no amount of medical skill was going to overshadow that. I was stuck fetching and carrying and doing routine tests, despite the fact I had degrees from Cambridge, Harvard, a dozen others. But I had to stick it out for a little while longer, until the dust settled. Until Edward was prepared to make the move with me.

I hadn't particularly missed night work. Though it was easier to live without trying to avoid the nervous edge of a sunny day, the hospital was a different place after midnight. The inpatients were all sleeping, the wards quiet and dark – but the emergency room a hub of frenzied activity. The only people staggering through our doors were drunkards who had stumbled into some stupid accident, people who'd been mugged, stabbed – no tearful kids who could be cheered with a lollipop and a plaster cast.

I spent the first few hours distributing papers between departments, mostly going out of my mind with boredom. In retrospect, the interruption was very, very welcome.

"Cullen!"

The voice which roared my name down the corridor was deafening but unmistakable. I froze icy still and waited without facing him. Footsteps thumped on the floor, lumbering towards me like a bear – unsteady and arrhythmic, heavy and in time with the wheezing grunts.

I turned, quick enough that he would question his own vision, whipping the clipboard aside.

My eyes narrowed as I examined him – Charles Evenson was extraordinarily drunk. Swiftly I registered the bloodshot eyes, the uncertain, flailing movements, the red stains on his shirt – he reeked of cheap whiskey but never had a human's blood called to me less.

"Yes Mr Evenson?" I said civilly. A few morbid fantasies were playing out in my mind, but I'd see how we went.

"I want a word with you," he slurred, jabbing a finger into my chest. He pulled himself up to his full height, which just about grazed my chin, and puffed out his chest in a futile attempt to look intimidating.

"Certainly," I said politely, abandoning all my better judgement. I folded my arms, put the papers on a nearby trolley. "What did you want to see me about?"

I had no idea where this was going to go, but it was going there on my terms. I watched him flounder for his vocabulary, his hands circling in the air – crystalline memories of everything those hands had done sprang to mind. The precise shade of every bruise, the gentle, apologetic hiss from her lips as I disinfected a cut, her tears wet on my fingers. Suddenly it became a little overwhelming and I shoved my hands in my pockets, biting down on the temptation to do something stupid. One hand brushed against something small and carefully I made out the shape of an earring.

Well I wasn't going to throw both of them in the dusty road leading away from Ohio.

"You . . . you 'n' my girl. You know where she is, you kidnapped her," he shouted unsteadily, breaking my meandering thought process.

"I have no idea what you're talking about Mr Evenson." I said coolly. "Clearly I didn't kidnap your wife. I've been here. I had no idea she'd left."

"Liar." He muttered. "She had a fancy for you. Seen you skulking about. Must think I was born yesterday."

"Really, I don't know. If you and Mrs Evenson were having problems, that's your business."

"Problems? It's you, you smug bastard!"

"Please calm down," I said, half hoping to rile him further. "Esme only ever-"

"She was a conniving little bitch," he spat, and suddenly anger flared in me like I'd never felt.

"Please don't speak about your wife like that," I said through gritted teeth.

"From the very beginning, she was almost planning, always plotting-" he ranted. "-never did what she was fucking told-"

Oh Lord, help me keep my temper. Don't let me do anything rash. I pressed the earring between fingers. With perfect clarity, I recalled the moment she had made me promise on that night. Her hand had been warm on my cheek as she turned my head to face her, made me keep her gaze as she spoke in her soft, earnest little voice.

"_It's not because I care about him, I swear. It's because I care about you. I can't have you getting into trouble from him – when he gets a reason, a grudge, he'll never stop. And if you got arrested on my behalf, I might have to kill you myself – and what about Edward hmm?"_

I shut my eyes, dreamt up her face. But far from calming, that only made me angrier. He carried on stoking the fire.

"-filthy little _whore_- and that baby, that bloody – she should be _glad_ I took care of it, she'd be a terrible mother what with all these men she has lined up for-"

I registered his fist swinging towards my face and almost unconsciously I reached out a hand to grab it in mid air–

His howl brought me back to reality, piercing through my thoughts.

_Damn._

The foul man's bones were crunching in my fist, his fingers folding in and shattering like glass as I gripped instinctively, too hard – blood was dripping down my arm, running in bright streams down my sleeve. But as agony tore across his face and ripped through his voice, I couldn't bring myself to let go immediately. A smile twisted at my face as a drop of red splashed on the floor and he looked at me in horror.

I relaxed the pressure a little, but I didn't let go. We were suspended in some crude freeze frame, and he wasn't even trying to pull his ruined hand back for fear of what I might do next.

"Esme is wonderful, wonderful woman whom you never deserved." I said steadily. "I don't know where she is, but I'm glad she's escaped. You are a disgusting, evil, pathetic little man and I can only hope one day you realise this and throw yourself in a river. Because it's not my place to punish, but I believe God has a place for people like you. The emergency room is down this corridor and left, and if you tell anyone about this I _will _kill you. Understood?"

He nodded fervently, the terror bright in his eyes. I was glad because I meant every word.

{-}

I walked home slowly, feeling the boiling rage fade to a simmer as time passed. At first I felt a prickly, uncomfortable feeling – what on earth had I done? But as I began to rationalise, I pushed it aside. The perverse sense of pleasure I had gotten probably shouldn't be anything to be ashamed of, and it wasn't like I had anyone to answer to. Esme would be slightly horrified, but more for me than anything else and I could take care of myself. I could almost imagine a tentative, guilty smile on her face as she chided me.

Edward probably wasn't in, but I decided to give it a few days if that was the case. Last time I had run out to look for him straight away, but last time had been unprecedented, last time I had more to atone for, more to sort out. Now I was desperately sorry for forcing him out, of course I was – but he knew it, he knew everything. He knew what happened, he knew what each potential outcome could have been – he knew I would always wait for him, always welcome him home no matter what he did. So perhaps this time, time was all he needed and if he didn't return of his own accord I would go and talk to him soon.

My surprise was only rivalled by my joy when I opened the door to my study and saw him slumped in his chair, flicking through a medical journal absentmindedly.

"Morning," he said with a shy smile.

"You- you came back." I said, stupidly.

He raised an eyebrow.

"OK, I'm an idiot. And I'm sorry. And I won't say never again because I don't want to have to break that promise, but thank you so much for-"

"Carlisle, I really don't mind. No harm done."

Cautiously I made my way over to my chair, waiting for something to fall into place. No, still confused. The room was still absolutely swimming in her scent, but he was holding out, breathing shallowly as if to test himself.

"That's a change of tune. I can't read your mind, would you mind explaining?"

He sighed and put down his book.

"First may I congratulate you on holding your temper for as long as you did just now. I wouldn't have lasted nearly so long, and I'm glad he broke you eventually because he had that coming."

I grinned a little self consciously, rubbed my neck. Then I waited expectantly for him to continue.

"Well . . . I was hurt at first. But I fed, cleared my head a bit. And I'm sorry I asked you to choose to begin with, but I didn't really understand. When I listened to the two of you, properly, with an open mind – God Carlisle, you both think so much neither of you will dare say, it's hilarious."

I sighed. Such were the perils of having a mindreading son.

_Glad I could amuse you._

"And she's gone now, right?"

Oh dear . . .

"Um, for the moment."

Edward frowned.

"You were serious?"

I didn't meet his scrutinising gaze.

"Possibly."

"Carlisle, you can't – you can't tell her."

I shrugged. There had been so many close shaves already, and at some point she was going to ask why I hadn't aged a day since she was sixteen.

"Oh God you did not just think that-"

"What?" I said defensively. I wracked my brains for whatever it was which had offended him so, delving into my subconscious -

"You can't change her."

I didn't want to answer. I certainly didn't want to verbalise it.

_If I explained, if I gave her the choice-_

"No! This is damnation; you can't ask that of someone you love when you know she'll agree, blindly, to anything you please."

_Edward, I don't want to argue. I'm just pleased you're here. _

He didn't spare me a glance as he stalked out.

_**A/N –**__Apologies for how long this took but I hope you all enjoyed it. __Especially the random spike of subscribers I've had over the last week . . . hello, thanks for joining! _

_Anyway, official business - I have some important exams kicking off terrifyingly soon. And though I hesitate to officially hiatus something, I know if I don't I'll just keep writing it to procrastinate. So though I hate to do this, this fic will lie dormant, but not abandoned, until the seventh of June at the earliest. Sorry to do this to you – and myself! – but I thought I'd leave you with a nice, non cliffhanger chapter and a solid date for revival to soften the blow. I hope you'll stick with me through this, and I can't wait to get going again. _

_Feedback is heavenly, please leave a quick word! Makes my day! (And to answer the question I know is coming: this is not the last you will see of Charles Evenson.)_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

Where to begin.

My time with Harrie and Megan was . . . wonderful. Magical. The only true sanctuary I ever encountered as I lived and breathed.

But it was lonely.

Before, I had revelled in the peace of my own company. That blessed year when Charles went off to fight in the war – I danced around the house, sang when the fancy struck, lazed over novels, spent hours working in my garden. I acted the anxious, loyal wife at church but came home, threw myself onto a mercifully empty bed and stared at the ceiling with unfocused eyes, horrible thoughts drifting across my mind I didn't quite have the heart to take back.

But against my furtive, whispered prayers, he returned. And solitude had since become something I treasured like golddust.

I don't even know what I'm talking about. I was never alone – most days I went to work with Harrie, begged her to let me lend my mediocre sewing skills to her whatever her latest project might be, else I was occupying Megan, teaching her some nursery rhyme on the old, dusty piano. I was busy, I was healthy, I was safe and by all means I should have been ludicrously happy.

But I _missed _him.

It was silly. I had his letters, more than before. I could even write back now, sending news and thoughts and babbles about nothing of any great importance. He wrote of the hospital, any interesting distractions he could think of. At my insistence he assured me that there had been no repercussions back home to my sudden disappearance. It hurt that he felt the need to lie. But I could never find it in myself to be angry, every flame of frustration doused by his postscripts. I think he copied them out of a textbook or something, but every time he gave me a new little detail to tuck away. _Baby's got a heartbeat. Baby's opened its eyes. Baby's starting to move any day now._

_. . . Esme if you're feeling uneasy about anything, please tell me. It's going to be inconvenient at best but we can do this together (albeit on other sides of the country.) And I'll be there before you know it, I've been making enquiries with the hospital about a transfer – there's nothing about at the moment, but the second there is I'll catch it. Don't worry, I'll leave it long enough for him to forget about you – and me – and us – but I hate dragging this out . . . _

It made my heart wrench and my hands shake. As the weeks passed, my stomach began to round out underneath my probing hands. It was immensely difficult to bring myself to feel anything but fear, despite everyone's reassurances. I tried to remember how it had felt last time – that secretive fizz of excitement, delicious and tantalising and aching with love. But all I could recall with any clarity was blood on my fingers, my failures staining crimson onto his white wrist as he took my hand and carried me inside. I was counting obsessively, waiting to push past day seventy three. Some instinct of self preservation wasn't letting me believe this could work out. I think it's because I knew somewhere in my heart that I would not be able to cope if it didn't – certainly I never had a dreamless night.

_. . . everything's perfect Carlisle. Harrie's looking after me fine, she says she wants to meet you one day. She won't let me do much but I'm teaching Megs piano which is lovely. Charles locked mine up a long time ago, so I'm a bit rusty, but that's just made it even more magic that I can play again. Honestly, it's been long enough that the panic has started to abate somewhat, I just keep telling myself this is fine, there's nothing wrong with me, he's back home – well, not home any more . . ._

I spent most days sick with worry, trying to hide it from everyone else. I hated leaving the house, particularly when I got too awkward to run – I saw Charles everywhere, on every bus, every street corner. And every time I did, something horrible would clench in my stomach. And every time _that_ happened, I ended up driving myself into a fit of panic with my heart racing and my eyes streaming and the world crashing in all around me – I needed my doctor and I wanted him and yet I almost wished I'd never met him at all because I might be dead by now without him.

_. . . wonderful to hear from you Esme. Obviously I'd rather be there, but from what you're describing everything seems to be progressing beautifully – I have no concerns whatsoever. I really couldn't be happier with how everything's going here, there's been far less drama than either of us were expecting I think – a mild amount of fuss but it's died down quickly. I think everyone suspected and no one blames you. But on to other things . . . _

I was trying to keep my head above the water, but every day it got harder to break the surface. Harrie was watching me sink, with an incongruous frown on her face – she tried to talk, every night. But it was pointless – I was perfectly honest. She knew everything that was bothering me but she also knew there was nothing to be done until I had my baby in my arms.

_. . . yes__. I'm fine. _

{-}

_Carlisle, _

_I was lying. So were you. As long as we're both clear. _

_I wish I could be proper about this, for once in my life._

_Every day feels like forever dragging past. I can't do this without you. _

_I'm sorry. _

_I wish –_

_I can't say it. _

_But I love you. _

_Esme_

Honestly, I threw away more letters than I sent.

{-}

_**A/N**__ – I'm not here. I'm revising. I promise. But I've cut together some old fragments I had kicking about to "celebrate" the fact that Peter and Elizabeth aren't coming to the London premiere. ¬_¬_


	19. Chapter 19

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

Every day I sustained myself with daydreams. I knew this dependency was unhealthy, but what in my life had ever conformed to society's standards? It was something in my mind, even if it came to nothing. Which it might. Because I simply didn't know.

He was frustratingly gentlemanly. He signed his letters with kind thoughts, with fragments of Keats, Byron, Wilde. I had so many tiny shards of memory glittering under my eyelids, but the insecurities were all consuming (and always at ungodly hours of the night).

He would trail a tingling spiderweb of featherlight touches over my cheek, hold me in a gaze so heavy with longing I could feel it tugging painfully at my heart – he would hold my hand, pull me close, stroke my hair, press his lips to the top of my head – but never once did he move further. Never gave me any sort of hint, to allow me to confirm whatever this was – this strange, tentative sort of relationship we had forged from pain and salvation and the most glorious, godgiven second chances. I couldn't risk shattering whatever it was we had built on such shaky foundations - no matter how much I desperately wanted to grab his shirt and pull him down into a kiss, to wordlessly demand confirmation or denial of everything I wanted and everything he had been cautiously avoiding. I would simply never dare. I couldn't risk that teetering, wavering chance he might push me away carefully, sympathy swimming in apologetic, golden eyes.

I couldn't name it, begin to describe it, in case that stopped it being real.

I knew somewhere in my soul that he was the one who had kept me safe my entire life. I knew from the moment I saw him that we were destined to have some tremendous impact on each other even if I tried to pass it off as a schoolgirl crush at the time. But he completed me. The fated chances and sheer dumb luck we had stumbled through and ended up here – it felt predestined. Star cross'd lovers. But like I said. It was nameless, neither of us willing to probe at the elusive, glimmering ties of hope and love and light holding us together like a bubble made of glass, lest it flicker and shatter and throw itself to scatter in the breeze.

I hated not knowing but I was too terrified to find out.

_**A/N –**__ Teeny little drabble type thing which was supposed to be in a couple of chapters time but no longer fits and probably should have been in the chapter eighteen instead. I swear I am at least a little bit organised, I have a spreadsheet and everything. Proper update in like, ten minutes when I'm done proofreading. _

_Also – no more exams! Regular updates! My sanity and fic-deprived mind regained! Lovely. _


	20. Chapter 20

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Carlisle_

_They need you here, she needs you here, you cannot leave. It is not physically possible for anyone to die of boredom. Especially you. _

I was going out of my mind with the sheer monotony, sorting through inventories and stock lists. The hospital was hopelessly dull that morning. But if this was what it took to keep my ramshackle, estranged, adopted sort-of-family safe then I was happy enough to do it.

Because by some miracle of human existence she was at seven months and counting without a whimper of trouble. It shouldn't have been such a surprise, shouldn't be snatching my breath away every time I remembered, but it was still a tiny bit incomprehensible for some reason. I couldn't let a pregnant woman pass me by without beaming with irrational pride.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I jumped a mile when I heard a knock at the (third floor) window. And even then, it was still a terrible shock to turn around and see Edward teetering on the edge of the frame, one hand hooked lazily around the handle, waiting impatiently for me to let him in.

"Edward, what the-" I said incredulously before hurrying towards the window and unlatching it, allowing him to slip inside.

I hurriedly sought out his eyes but they were still drenched in honey yellow. We had made progress since Esme left, certainly, but what had happened which couldn't wait three hours for me to get home? What could have caused him to walk through the town as dawn threatened, through the streets heaving with blood-

"Shut up and don't panic." He said abruptly.

"What is it?" I demanded, panic surging through me all of a sudden.

"Your Esme's mother's in town. They know where she is, she's told Evenson."

And thus the world I had so carefully cultivated tumbled to the ground in a single crashing wave.

"Her nephew visited Harriet out of the blue and they couldn't get her out quick enough. They asked him not to tell her mother but obviously . . ."

I struggled to keep my mind clear, I could see Edward twitching every time someone walked past the door. Clean, calm, white-

_He's going to kill her. _

Edward dropped his gaze to look at the floor.

Somehow, though I tried to push my panic and anger aside, every nerve of my body was flooded with energy and fire. I had automatically eased myself from being a doctor into another role I had long since perfected - a hunter. And there was only one face in my mind, one scent I would pinpoint and eradicate, one flavour slicking down my throat-

"Carlisle, stop it," gasped Edward. "You can't. You'll ruin everything."

A whisper of a snarl, a flood of venom tanging on my tongue. Everything was red, red, red and I couldn't see the gold pleading in his eyes.

I tensed to spring and moved for the window, but he was faster – a confused sort of helplessness colouring his face, he threw out a hand, caught my shoulder-

"You can't! Everything will – Carlisle for God's sake, go to Cincinnati and get her the hell out of there. Don't do anything you'll regret."

_Get her the hell out of there. _

A trembling hand and an apologetic, wordless look.

"Good luck," he said, the sincerity in his words palpable.

I stashed them away in my heart and turned for the city, searching out the scent on the air.

{-}

As I ran I forced my mind to clear. My lack of restraint had been embarrassing at best, dangerous at worst. It burned in my conscience, Edward's sudden strength in the face of so much temptation – it was unbelievable. I could only hope he made it home.

The closer I got to her, the saner I became. I began combing through my list of properties for a place she could be safe. Ashland quickly emerged as a frontrunner – it was small enough that she would be able to cope, big enough that she would be able to lose herself in the crowd. I had a little flat just near the hospital which I had kept up payments for, just in case. It was a little closer to Cincinnati than I may have been comfortable with but the next best solution was a four day journey away and I didn't want to drag her through it. So Ashland it was to be.

I sorted through logistics, through every detail and possibility. I kept tracking over everything in a painfully methodical way, keeping myself from daydreaming. I felt split – half of me was being pulled on forwards, she was drawing me to her like a candle flame. I couldn't resist the very idea I might be able to see her, to feel her smile. And yet burning somewhere at the core of me was a more basic, primal instinct – pulling me backwards, pulling me home, towards the beating heart of one man. But I couldn't. And for the moments when I didn't know that, Edward did. I'd entrench us all further in this nightmare, inescapably.

The scenery changed gradually, the colours merging and flickering past in a smudgy haze of America. It wasn't too long before the city approached on the horizon, the scents mixing into a more intense sort of blend, the factories and the fire and the thousands upon thousands of people.

{-}

I found the house quickly, hurried up the steps and hid under the canopy of the porch. I rested my hand on the door. Anticipation was twisting in my stomach, the fluttering thrill of her proximity, and I couldn't help but smile for a moment – but I was going to pull the life she had so carefully constructed crashing down about her. And I was more than the harbinger of bad news. It was all my fault.

The wood was smooth under my fingertips. I peered into the window but I couldn't see anything except for a staircase, a couple of pictures framed on the walls.

But she could have been about ten feet away and that was all I thought as I rapped on the door.

I almost felt sick, waiting. It seemed to drag on infinitely, I heard some scurrying noise inside, someone was talking-

"It's not him Es, you need to stop freaking out like this-" someone was begging. "One second!" she shouted. I shut my eyes, listening hard. Movement, someone muttering. Then _her _voice. "But you don't know that. Now answer the bloody door."

I waited, counting the footsteps. Then the door swung open – I looked unassumingly at the woman and she outright stared at me. Top to toe and up again, scrutinising every inch of my face with one hand on her hip.

"I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen." I said quietly when she showed no signs of movement. "May I come in?"

Suddenly her face split into a grin.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, slapping her hand against her leg. "She- oh definitely!"

And with that she grabbed my hand and pulled me through the hall, kicking the door closed behind us. I couldn't help but laugh as she hurried ahead, her skirts whirling behind her as she sung out Esme's name.

"What is it?" muttered a voice groggily.

"You'll _never _guess." She said delightedly.

I couldn't wait any longer – I pushed past her, turned to look – oh my word.

I took approximately half a second just to look, to let her mouth fall open and her eyes light up before dropping to where she was sitting and pulling her into my arms.

"Carlisle." She whispered disbelievingly.

"Mmm."

I buried my nose in her hair, the scent scratching at my throat but filling the gap she had left when we had last waved goodbye on that platform. She melted against me, her fingers hot on my neck and I shifted to catch her wide brown eyes in my own – she was shaking so hard and I had frozen in the face of it all. Carefully I pushed back her fringe, rested my forehead on hers – the colours softened together, the pink in her cheeks, the dusty brown in her hair, the wonder spilling over in her wet eyes - I drank it in because she was dizzyingly, hopelessly here.

I didn't want to move, and neither did she. So we didn't. But my God. What I wouldn't have given to be human for just one minute – and yet the more I contemplated the concept, the more venom seemed to settle in my mouth. My own body betrayed me, painting the barriers with poison. The barriers which would stop me every being able to do anything as simple as kiss her.

I heard the door click shut and suddenly we were alone.

"You OK?" I murmured.

She nodded, biting her lip.

"How's baby?"

I wriggled back giving her a little more room to breathe, finding a spot beside her. It hadn't registered before, the curve of her stomach sketched under her dress, but now I couldn't help but wonder.

"Overexcited." She smiled. One hand was knotted in with mine but she rubbed over the top with her other. "Happy to see you."

I grinned.

That was it. That was our magic moment. Because then it all came flooding back and the bubble burst in a shower of rain.

"What's wrong?" she asked fearfully. It was heartbreaking that she would jump to the conclusion she did. But not as much as it was that I had to confirm it.

I searched out her eyes, held her gaze steady. Echoed Edward's words from earlier, ineffective though they were.

"First of all, don't panic."

Her mouth opened to speak, but she changed her mind. I could do nothing but watch as the shadow sank over her eyes, as her face fell.

"No no no." She choked, tearing the wits right out of me.

"Esme, don't. I've got it all worked out I promise. You'll be fine, we'll be fine. I'm not going to leave again, we'll go together."

She pressed her face against my shoulder, her whole body shuddering and I hugged her close.

"Don't. It'll be OK. I have a place in Ashland, he'd never -"

"But he found here. Give up Carlisle, please."

"Don't say things like that. It was your cousin who came here then told your mother, then she came to tell . . ."

"That lying little- we made him swear on his mother's life-" she spluttered.

"But really, we haven't got the time Esme. How soon will you be ready to leave?"

She was already stumbling to her feet, wiping her eyes furiously.

"Five minutes. But what about Harriet and Megan – they can't just stay and wait for him-"

"I'll sort something out." I squeezed her hand again and let it fall – she froze for a moment, stared as if to check I wasn't going to dissipate on the breeze, before fleeing the room with more grace than I would have credited anyone at seven months pregnant.

But oh Lord, she was right . . . I stalked out of the room, peering around doors until I found Harriet sitting at the kitchen table with her daughter on her lap, talking quietly. She turned as I entered, smiled softly.

"He's found us hasn't he?" she asked, resigned.

I grabbed a chair, took a seat opposite her.

"Yes," I said simply. "But I've got somewhere she can be perfectly safe, and if you want to-"

"I wouldn't dream of it." She said firmly. "I've been preparing for this since she arrived. We'll be perfectly fine, I have some friends out of state who'll be happy enough to put me up until I can get my bearings."

I stayed quiet for a moment and gave a second to reconsider this surprising woman.

"If you're sure. I'll send some money as soon as I get back. And I'm ever so sorry to uproot you like this-"

She waved a hand dismissively.

"Don't be. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat."

I was a little stunned, but unspeakably grateful.

"I . . . I have no idea how I can ever thank you enough for everything you've done for Esme – for me."

She grinned again, but her voice cracked unexpectedly.

"All I want is an invitation to your wedding."

And with that, she picked up her daughter and swooped out, grabbing a suitcase from under the stairs as she went.

I shook my head a little to clear it before following to help.

Extraordinary family. Half was evil. The other was nothing short of magnificent.

_**A/N**__ – OK, I know this is pretty slapdash (it's actually only half of what I intended to be this chapter so more Carlisle POV next time!) but I wanted to get something up before I forgot how to write, and I'm away this weekend so it's been a bit of a mad rush! Hope you enjoyed anyway._

_Reviews are muse-candy and make my day! _


	21. Chapter 21

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Carlisle_

I couldn't take my eyes off her for fear she would be snatched away from me again. It was absurd of course, but so were a lot of things.

We had hurried out half an hour after I had arrived unannounced on her doorstep. A few last – very last – words with her cousin, frantic garbled questions and reassurances, tight, clinging hugs with searching hands – they lied to each other recklessly, the gratitude spooling in their eyes. I averted my own, but I couldn't help hearing the hummingbird skipping of her heart, the choking ragged edges to her breathing. Most of all I listened to the things they weren't saying and the silence hung heavy on my heart.

But time was ticking on. Relentlessly so.

Gently I slipped an apologetic hand through Esme's and she let herself drop from Harriet's embrace with a sigh. She stepped back, away, into me, her face still coloured with uncertain, silent questions I couldn't answer.

I don't know what I would have done if I'd known that was the last time either of us would ever see her cousin. But it was, and all I had were words.

"Thank you."

I tucked my arm around Esme carefully until I could barely see for the cloying scent. Something splintered in her gaze and Harriet nodded silently with her lips pressed together. I picked up the suitcase sitting unassumingly between us. Her eyes flickered up to my face.

We walked away and a gentle mist of rain covered our footprints. It was as if we were never there.

{-}

I didn't try to initiate a conversation – putting one foot in front of the other was almost more than I could handle. Because my senses were being assaulted from every which way and I didn't want to interrupt the symphony. I couldn't do anything but sift through the notes of honey-rose-vanilla-sunset swirling in the air and feel the jumping, fluttering thrum of her heartbeat shudder through her body – her body was throwing off hormones and chemicals in a surging, pulsing dance I could almost see – I had never felt anyone so alive and suddenly it was quite a glorious day.

She didn't speak either, but she held tight onto my hand the whole way to the station, chaining our shadows together. Her fingers were burning between mine, bitten nails and blood racing lightly underneath, but it was something to focus on to stop myself saying something idiotic. I knew there would be time for stories, time to broach the subject of the constant threat biting on our heels. There would be time to ask her to stop looking over her shoulder, stumbling over a half recognised face, to stop chewing on her bottom lip and flinching away from loud noises because every time she did it felt like the bottom was dropping out of my stomach.

It wasn't a terribly long journey but I felt it acutely as she began to breathe a little harder, to drag her feet along the path even if it was imperceptible to a human eye – I squinted up at the sun, shrouded in cloud for the moment. I knew it could be merciless and unforgiving, it could change its allegiances at any moment and burst through the rain. And I was pushing my luck to breaking point as it was. So I drove on a little faster nevertheless, keeping a step ahead, because I knew she'd never ask me to slow down. I was somewhat sickened by my own selfishness, necessary as it was. But we made it eventually and I fought and charmed our way on to a train. Soon we were speeding towards Ashland, another chance at happiness, with the city disappearing from the mirage outside the window.

"So now what?" she asked softly, burrowing under my arm.

"Hmm. Well."

I took a moment to think, watching the rain spotting on the window and shifting to let her curl up against me. It was a fruitless endeavour, searching out some comfortable spot, we had eight hours to while away and I could only imagine how unbearably hot it must have been.

"Ashland. I know a place we can stay, right by the hospital as it happens. And then we'll just have to do whatever we can."

She nodded slowly, processing my words.

"And if he finds us?"

"He won't. We haven't left any semblance of a trail."

I didn't need to read her thoughts to feel the resigned sort of dread settling over her like an old blanket, familiar and enveloping. It would be hard to break out of this. But we had the best part of forever.

"What about Edward?"

Indeed.

"I hope he'll be able to join us eventually." I said carefully. "But the logistics may take a little while. I'll write to him when we arrive and tell him what's going on. It's just he'll have to be very careful leaving home and then coming straight to Ashland. People still might be watching."

She froze still and all I could do was babble on. Because I am an idiot. And a vampire. And somehow I get myself into these situations.

"Don't fret though. It's no trouble, he can take care of himself. He doesn't mind. And we've come up against worse before. It's just that if he was here I think I could do a better job keeping everyone safe – he's pretty tough, we could definitely handle the worst case scenario. I – bloody hell what was that?"

"Sorry, he's a bit of a fidget," she said, grinning at my panic.

I looked down and noticed my hand grazing her stomach, the startling little jerk suddenly very easily explained.

I felt faintly embarrassed – I swear I've graduated from Cambridge, Montpellier, Valencia, wherever you like – but it didn't seem that long since . . . anything . . . and yet somehow it was years which were catching up with us.

Coherency was escaping me somewhat so I just smiled. She did too, shutting her eyes against the dry, dusty heat and snuggling into my side, unashamedly using me as an ice pack.

"Why're you always so cold?" she mumbled sleepily.

I didn't pull away and try to deny it because that would jolt her, which would be an unkind response to an innocent question. But _dammit_.

"Oh. Anaemia?"

"OK. I have no idea what that is though."

It was the excuse I trotted out to nurses fussing over my perpetual pallor, and no one had ever seen fit to pursue it further. But as she started to nod off I realised what a nightmare this would be if I tried to uphold the pretence for very much longer. Edward could just about manage to head through the town with me on his arm, but her? Her blood was the strongest, sweetest, thickest most glorious, screaming temptation I had ever stumbled upon and I do not doubt that had I come across Esme Platt maybe fifty years earlier, I would have had her without a blink. And maybe I would have gone back to Aro after that, begged for hell in return.

She was completely gone now, having been lulled to sleep by exhaustion and the rattling cacophony of the train. I just watched for a moment, the pulse of blood under her red cheeks enticing in all its wonder. Then I glanced around for a moment. No one was watching. So I ran one finger along her neck until it was damp with sweat and hovered it under my nose, pulling out the different scents and dear Lord what was I doing? Hastily I wiped my hand on my shirt, looked down again. How had this woman snatched me of any sensibilities I had once possessed?

Edward had his theories. He hadn't dared voice any of his ideas, but he had made his feelings known – he must have been digging through my archives, because I had come home from work the other week to find a few ancient manuscripts spread over my desk, the relevant parts marked out with a glass paperweight. I think he was more scared he was right than anything else. Personally I would be happy to get a firmer grasp on whatever was happening, but I can only imagine how it would seem to my son.

I shut my eyes, called up the passage, the words he had clearly wanted me to rediscover. The myth. It was as if he was just there, saying the words in my ear.

_La tua cantante. _

To the best of my knowledge, it didn't exist. It made no sense, for there to be neither rhyme or reason to it – I don't believe in that kind of random chance governing such a thing. I had never spoken to anyone who had any personal experience of it – no one I could ask a few purely hypothetical questions – but I had heard the term mentioned in whispers between circles of friends with dark, heavy lidded eyes. Come across it in old books of vampire lore. Heard it passed between the women of the Volturi, shut inside on a ponderously sunny day. But there are hundreds of such rumours flying around, about vampires – burning in the sunlight, sleeping through the day, fangs and bats and coffins – and that had never really amounted to much.

_Mia cantante_. My singer.

A little more consciously now, I threaded my hand through her hair just to feel it. She squirmed a little under my touch, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach but she didn't seem to mind. I found myself smiling nonetheless.

Oh dear.

So if she was. Maybe. I kind of resented the idea this was set out in stone before I even had the chance to fall in love with her on my own, but it may clear up a few things. And it would explain why no one could tell me about it – surely no one else's had lasted a moment after they had caught her scent on the wind. Understandably. And that was why . . . why she . . .

One of my hands was trapped behind her back, but I ran the other through my hair. I would have to tell her everything, or leave. And if I told her and she decided to run, the Volturi would have her before she could blink. If I told her and she decided to _stay_ they'd have me change her or kill her. But I couldn't turn her, not yet. Perhaps I could drag this out for another two months, let her have her baby. Then . . . find some way to explain. Before offering eternal damnation.

It would be infinitely safer if I just left. But I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't do that to _myself._

It's almost ironic. I am revered for my self control. My dedication. My every desperate effort to preserve human life.

And yet I couldn't leave this girl alone for a second, to live out her life in peace.

Stregoni Benefici indeed.

{-}

Part of me had loved Ashland the last time I was here, but I hadn't stayed for very long. It's a beautiful little picture postcard town, smatterings of detached houses clustered around a little town centre with the hospital tucked in between – leafy and green and lovely and not somewhere I could stay for more than a couple of years before going mad with boredom. But now? It was perfection itself. So it was with something of a grin that we went to find the landlord – the last one had died a generation ago of course, but I had been keeping up payments under the name of Carlisle Cullen Jr, in case I ever needed the little retreat again.

The poor man had been understandably shocked when we had turned up – it was nearly midnight, the relentless sun finally having sank beneath the horizon leaving a balmy night full of crickets. However once I explained, and left a hefty payment for his trouble, he seemed content enough to wave us off with a set of keys and a dazed sort of expression. My old house had been practically next door to the hospital so I tracked it down easily enough and burst through the years of dust sticking the door shut with a hard shove.

"Who's is this house again?" asked Esme, standing a little way back with her arms folded as I reached to sweep the cobwebs from the top of the frame so she could come in without being entertained by a shower of spiders.

"My cousin's." I said offhandedly. "But he died a few years back."

I darted in ahead of her, casting my eyes around – I couldn't quite remember what I had left here, if there was anything lying around that would create problems later. But all I saw in the front room was a few boxes of books stacked haphazardly by the door, a falling-apart sofa which I had probably left for the state of it, a cold fireplace with the last shadows of ash colouring the edges. It was dark and chill, the moon throwing white light through the huge, uncurtained windows, but habitable. I heard her footsteps after me so I darted up the sweeping staircase, sticking my head through the various doors – all empty save a threadbare rug, a large desk and a rat skittering across the floor. In a smooth movement I grabbed it, snapped its neck and threw it out of the window.

"Anything up there?" she called from the bottom of the stairs, apprehension in her tone.

"Nope." I shouted before vaulting the banister and jumping back down. "No furniture, no homeless folk, no ghosts."

Her eyes were shining in the moonlight, a grin quirking at her mouth, echoing the open happiness on my own face.

"We can go shopping tomorrow," I promised, taking both her hands in a startlingly presumptuous move.

To a passerby glancing in, we would be dancing, laughing in the abandoned house with the scent of honey and lilac flowers teasing through my fingers. She was melting me from the inside out.

And then I didn't know _what_ was happening. Suddenly she was on her tiptoes with her lips on my cheek and oh God they were warm, impossibly soft – I froze still and for that moment I was completely human. Instinctively almost, I moved to meet her – but the venom flooded over my teeth – what could I do? Suddenly everything caught up with me and in a panic I pushed her back by her shoulders and her eyes snapped open, her hand flew to her mouth -

"I'm sorry Esme I can't-" I said helplessly, swallowing back the mouthful of poison which had gotten so horribly close to -

Before I knew what was happened she staggered back a few paces, her eyes full of hurt and utter, utter confusion. I moved to follow, one hand outstretched, but then a second impossible thing crashed into my senses-

"Carlisle!" someone shouted, a voice I knew as well as anyone. No no no no . . .

"Edward, what in God's name are you doing here?" I asked despairingly, throwing my hands up.

Somewhere along the line I had relinquished any control I ever had over anything.

As soon as I turned my back I heard her scurry upstairs, a sob tearing at her throat and I-

"Carlisle you've got to come back, something's happened."

All I could see were his eyes, black as pitch.

{-}

_**A/N**__ – OK, I really hate to ruin the atmosphere, but ruin it I shall. Tis a worthy cause. Because OH. MY. GOD. Someone has nominated this story for the Bring Me to Life Awards for "The Passionate Woman" category (Best Esme Story) and whoever you are, YOU HAVE JUST MADE MY LIFE. I'm still sitting here cackling inanely and trying to get my head around it. Thank you so much kind stranger! _

_I'm not expecting to win because the competition is ludicrously stiff (and I might have a heart attack) but if anyone would care to vote for me (!) then feel free to head over to www(dot)bringmetolifeawards(dot)weebly(dot)com and click on vote on the sidebar. __Thanks in advance! :D_

_And as ever – reviews feed muses even better than chocolate and pretty new Eclipse stills. :)_


	22. Chapter 22

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

I couldn't even begin to describe where my mind was that night. Stuck in the bare room it was like something out of a nightmare I'd had a thousand times before, sitting in the corner with my head in my hands trying to field the torrents of feelings and thoughts and sinking, shouting, accusations shooting at me from every direction. The darkness was awful but I pressed my palms against my eyelids, forcing myself to breathe, forcing myself not to panic. Because with a single, stupid, reckless act of insanity I had certainly ruined everything but at least now I knew for sure.

I didn't _deserve_ these second chances. Because all I did was screw it up, time after time. Maybe Charles had been right, every night, all those things he'd said which I had stopped trying to ignore when shaking them off had become too much effort.

I had . . . oh Lord help me. I had no idea where we could possibly go from here.

But how could I have gotten it so wrong? Had I really been so blinkered, really so distorted in my memories – surely rose tinted glasses could not account for the way he looked at me, the things he had said, written -

Oh god, none of it mattered any more.

I blinked hard, forcing back tears. They wouldn't do much good. I couldn't weep for losing a future I never had.

He had just been being irrationally, extraordinarily kind. Sympathy. Nothing more, nothing less. I wasn't Esme Platt, I was just some sick kitten who caught his eye on a quiet day.

But it was all academic now anyway.

I drew in a slow, shuddering breath, leaning against the wall and drawing my wits back about me. I had to go back down, beg his forgiveness for my misunderstanding – because despite whatever, I owed him everything and not least an explanation.

Wiping my hands over my cheeks I rose unsteadily to my feet. It seemed quiet downstairs and suddenly I was horrifyingly nervous.

I pushed it from my thoughts and clambered down the stairs. The door to the sitting room was shut, so I knocked quietly, my stomach twisting into knots. When there was no answer, I knocked again. And again. But he was determined to torture me with silence, until I gave up and went in.

The first thing I saw was stillness. The absolute silence of the room. Then darkness. Emptiness. And then the bottom dropped out of my world.

There was a letter on the little table.

Like a dream I staggered towards it, snatched it in my hand and sank to the floor – the words seemed to blur in front of my eyes, hands shaking too hard to read at first. One hand pressing on my temple I tried to physically push away the crashing flood of terrifying possibilities and fears, sweeping through the ink spattered page.

_Esme,_

_I'm so sorry – I swear this isn't about anything you – I've had to go. _

_Edward came to tell me about something that happened back home. And I swear there's no threat to anything and we can definitely handle it – I just need to go and ascertain some things. I don't know the details and I don't want you to panic but I'd rather explain in person. Please don't worry after us, I'll be back before the week is out. Just stay safe please._

_I can't imagine what's going through your mind right now but don't you dare assume this means I don't- I'm sorry, again and I'll be able to talk properly soon. Just know that I want you to be happy, more than anything, but I need you to appreciate exactly what you'd be doing if . . . I'm sorry this must sound so cryptic. I think you were right in everything you supposed, you just knew first (everyone seems to have known first) and I couldn't quite – I'm sorry, I need to explain properly. I'll be back by Friday, okay? Give me one chance to redeem myself, please. And after that, if you want me to leave, I will. _

_Love,_

_Carlisle_

It fell from my fingers, fluttering to the floor like a snowy white feather from the fall of Icarus._ (Who was too thoughtless, too reckless, who suffered his fate.)_

There was a roar in my ears, a thousand things trying to run through my mind as everything confused and muddled and burst together until I couldn't think. The endless walls and arched ceilings started to crash in around me, snatching the oxygen from the room, the darkness smothering me, his silent words choking and scratching in my throat.

What did – what on God's earth could have happened so bad that he'd sooner leave me ignorant for a week than set my mind at ease – who could have – _"I'd rather tell you in person." _What had that man done, who had he hurt, how had Edward- was he after Carlisle – was I jeopardising his son simply by breathing? Harriet, had he gone after her- or had he heard the word Ashland in a dream, was he on his way – I didn't know, I had no way of knowing and I didn't know what to do.

But _damn_ him, because a simple little lie swept everything else away.

{-}

_A/N – Allow me a moment to be a narcissistic fangirl - if you'd like to vote for this story in the Bring Me To Life Awards, the link's in my profile and it would make me ridiculously happy! :D _

_And as ever, reviews are magic, please take a second to leave a quick word! _


	23. Chapter 23

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Edward_

The words had tumbled out of my mouth before I even realised what was going on.

"Carlisle, you've got to come back, something's happened."

There was a momentary freeze frame, and suddenly I registered what I had burst in on – the intensity of elation and horror crackling between them in incoherent explosions of emotion spinning off from faint jabbering thoughts – her hurt eyes, his dark ones – the fragile way he was encasing her fingers in his own, the sudden whip of movement as she snatched her hand back and dashed upstairs.

He stared blankly for a second before jumping to his senses and turning to run. I let myself snatch enough air (oh God help me she was intoxicating) to speak –

"Carlisle, what the hell-"

"Edward if this isn't life or death, _I _will kill you." He growled, shutting his eyes for a moment.

I was utterly at sea. Whatever I had walked in on I had not expected it – but whatever it was it was irrelevant. Quickly I let the girl's breathless, dancing thoughts overwhelm me, searching for some explanation – but it was incomprehensible as she darted from one thing to another, resignation and humiliation and fury at herself-

"Carlisle it _doesn't matter." _I snapped.

He gave me a minute to explain. I gave him a minute to write his excuses. (He took five.) And almost immediately we were free of the choking little town, surging with blood, and the dusty ground of Ohio was disappearing beneath our feet.

**_-Earlier that day-_**

"You can't! Everything will – Carlisle for God's sake, go to Cincinnati and get her the hell out of there. Don't do anything you'll regret." I burst out, desperate to save him from himself. Because if _he_ couldn't, there was no hope for me. He only held my horrified gaze for another moment.

He was fast, I knew that, but I had never seen him truly fly – he darted out of the hospital window in a stream of colour, before I could say another word. All I heard in his mind were directions, he was running through the quickest way to her, which routes he could take out of sight of the humans – logistics and numbers and lists and anything but the blood.

I hadn't felt him angry like that before. It was shocking, like acid on his usual impossible calmness, and it shook me to the core. The rage coursing through him as I told him his Esme was in danger – I didn't pretend to understand his care for the girl but I was prepared to pander to it. So when his control jumped so far out of hand I couldn't even . . .

At least he hadn't been lying. He always tried to tell me his bloodlust had once been as mine was, his control as shaky, his temptations as overwhelming, but never once had I even considered believing him.

I shook my head to clear it, the undercurrent of babbling saturating the hospital clouding my own thoughts. Patients struggling through, they wouldn't give me the silence to think for myself. Doctors and visitors and blood and I had to get out of here.

I replaced the papers Carlisle had knocked off the table, set the curtains straight then slipped out of the window, locking it behind me. Tentatively I allowed myself to breathe again, and the burn in my throat increased tenfold – it was pain like I never experienced as a human, a last fading memory from the three days changing. But unbearable as it was, I was learning to force it out of my mind for moments at a time. Though imperceptible, there was a rational part it of me watching it fade.

I jumped down to the ground and went back home, flitting between the shadows in the trees, eying the deer slipping past in the shadows. I had hunted properly the night before, but it was never never enough. When I reached our little hideaway the thirst was almost tolerable – everything was relative and somehow this was a blessing.

I cast out my mind to try and find Carlisle amongst the sea of whispering voices – he was always incredibly easy for me to locate, be it his familiarity of the enhanced brainpower of a vampire – but he must have already run out of my range. Frowning slightly, I checked my watch.

He was disconcertingly fast, but what the hell did I know.

I sank down on the doorstep, rubbing my temples, sifting through the chatter for a particular tone – a high, grating voice with an edge like a thistle, a lower, louder one, sinking and tumbling through his words – Esme's husband, and her mother. They had scythed through my reading like a knife earlier, shouting and pulsing with a victorious sort of anger as the names and accusations traded between the pair. Carefully I eased myself back, searching out her old house for the fizz of Heather Platt's red faced, blustering rage, but I couldn't quite . . . I shut my eyes, concentrated harder. Spread my mind over the town like feelers, creeping through homes and schools and arguments without a sound . . . ah. Delving inside I heard an echo of pain as she coughed out hot, angry tears, spinning out a whirling inner monologue – that man, that awful awful man.

Spite, acidic and poisonous, sprayed over her thoughts until I couldn't stand anything but to skim over the top – she'd told him, ordered him to go and find her – he hadn't much liked being ordered anywhere. He had asked how she knew where his wife gone, he asked after a blond haired man with funny eyes – she hadn't known, he hadn't liked that.

The air was tingling a little, blood gusting over in a light summer breeze.

I stretched my hands behind my head, pulling away from Heather Platt with no sympathy and seeking out the man at the heart of all this madness. It wasn't tricky – he was emanating a peculiar sort of toxicity, I could almost scent the tone of his thoughts amongst the crowd, black and sticky like tar. But it was more of a shock than it should have been when I looked and saw a muddy, distorted image of Carlisle. Except it wasn't Carlisle – his eyes were sharper, the glint harsher, his mouth tight in a smirk I had never seen and couldn't imagine - he looked utterly sadistic and I was more outraged than I had any right to be.

Carefully I touched over his mind, slow and precise in case I got too far in and saw something I didn't want to – patches were swirling or stagnant, shadowy or humming with a certain sort of repugnance – it was horrible, alien. I was far too used to Carlisle. But incoherent plans were tying together, vague memories and half-ideas stringing into passages – trains and thuggish friends and letters and the curl of his fingers on her throat, the flicker of light in her eyes and-

Oh.

Carlisle . . . I could have laughed when he turned his attention to him again, pictured him with a bruised, bloodied face – I almost wanted him to try, because part of me wanted to see Carlisle pushed over the edge, to free himself from the shackles of inhibition he always restrained himself with.

But bloody_ hell_.

I slammed my fist down on the ground, shattering a fistful of pebbles in my frustration. What had this girl _done?_

I got to my feet and started to head towards the forest. My throat was uncomfortably hot, the pain sharp and slicing. This dependency was still horrible, but I had gotten sick of trying to fight it, so I fed. I still thirsted, but I could function, and the hunt allowed me to free myself from the collective mind of the town for a moment or two.

It wasn't to last however. Of course, as I sat by the drained corpse of another animal, I watched its glassy eyes, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. And in those eyes I caught another snatch of Charles Evenson. And in that snatch, I wanted to vomit. Except it was his scent dancing in the air.

Scrambling up again I stood on tiptoes, catching the stream of breeze stirring the grass under my bare feet – it was blood and it was human and I wanted it more than I wanted anything else on earth – and how could I smell it from here having fed one minute ago-?

I stopped my breathing, forgoing the intensity of scent for the sake of my own sanity, and began to creep back up to my home. It got stronger as I ignored it and his thoughts got louder, harder, brighter, disgustingly vivid. I tried to push away, to jump into someone else's thoughts – anyone else – but I couldn't shake him. The blurry images in his mind began to crystallise and in a second of blistering horror and understanding, I recognised something.

My own front door.

He was here, he was terrifyingly close and that was why he - I listened through his own ears as he punched through the door, shoving it off its hinges with a hard shoulder – I saw my own shoes on the mat, my own pictures, my footprints on the stairs-

He was here and I was here and this wasn't going to end well. Something was coursing through me – like adrenaline, I was being primed to fight by every instinct in my body. Fists curled tight in my pockets, I listened hard as he stormed through the hallway, the living room, bolted upstairs – oh not his _study_ – but he shoved the door in and – this was so _wrong _it was making my skin crawl. Another gust of the blood drenched air and I held out a hand to feel it, a nanosecond away from stepping towards my home and -

_I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him slowly and enjoy it . . . _

I couldn't even tell who was thinking what any more. My own vague, imagined sensations of the burn being sated by his blood were overwhelmed by his – I felt him picture his hands around Carlisle's throat, the splutter of his last breaths begging for mercy with wide, terrified golden eyes – I felt him smirk and watch Carlisle's pleas choke into silence, his body crumbling beneath him as Evenson snapped the life from him leaving nothing but a broken body and a fading howl.

This is the way the world ends.  
Not with a bang but a whimper.

In a bolt I drew back. Evenson's mind was in a muddled hurry and to this day I think that my horror at how closely our thoughts were paralleled was the only thing that gave me the strength to stop.

I forced myself to back away, to hurry backwards into the forest with my eyes closed and my concentration absolutely firm. I couldn't bear to slip again, I held Carlisle's face in my mind as I went, pushing down the surging monster trying to struggle through me – but it was harder when I knew that he probably wouldn't be able to honestly be disappointed with this man's demise. He was screaming in my head, I heard odd words flashing and bursting through the plane of calm I was struggling to maintain, images flickering. His shaking hands were in front of his eyes and I couldn't help but moan slightly as I recognised Carlisle's desk, my gaze snapping up to the house in horror because I knew perfectly well what was on it. It had been my task to listen to my companion every night as he read and wrote and mused, feeling horribly intrusive though he had freely surrendered his privacy the day he found me.

I could do nothing but watch and listen and try not to spring to my feet as Evenson sank into Carlisle's chair and started to read.

Almost a full year's worth of letters, fragile and tentative with featherlight words and the gentlest kind of comfort. A folder rustling with medical records, every detail of her admissions to the hospital since she had moved here, years ago, and some from before that. Torn and tenuously relevant pages from medical textbooks with scribblings in the margins. Poetry, and far too much of it.

_the best gesture of my brain is less than  
your eyelids' flutter which says  
we are for each other; then  
laugh, leaning back in my arms  
for life's not a paragraph  
And death i think is no parenthesis _

And even after all that, laying bare and exposed – their careful little understanding vulnerable in the harsh light of day – there was one thing which was worse. A simple little section of words carelessly heading almost every page.

_Esme Platt  
38 Sycamore Street  
Cincinnati  
Ohio_

Everything was slipping through his mind, sliding and sticking and tangling into discord but the address burned like a flame, branding on his memory. Suddenly everything I had watched them build out of air and love and ink was crushed in his hand. And the way his thoughts began to collapse into red and black, the way his fists curled and his eyes burned and a growl hissed in his throat, I could only compare it to one thing and that thing was me. It was like the scent of her blood was being dragged under his nose and it was all I could do not to join in as he indulged himself in fantasies – frail, papery bones and a twisting, shrieking terror in her eyes and blood, rich and bright and thick with victory. Pressing my palms against my eyes now, I desperately tried to ground myself, to hide from something I couldn't see.

_Cullen's with her, Cullen's taken her. I can get there easy, I can get them both together – they couldn't have made it more simple . . . _

I waited a few minutes after he had stormed out of my home before I allowed myself to twitch. Then shift. Then let myself take a tentative breath. And it was clear.

Eyes snapped open and I was inside like a shot, flying up the stairs to Carlisle's study. It had been devastated – the letters he had treated like Shakespeare's first folio were scattered over the floor, his meticulous records upended in a heap, a muddy footprint scarring an annotated section of Oscar Wilde. It made me irrationally uncomfortable, the thought of someone in here, trampling through our secrets – it was so intrusive, like someone stealing over my soul. It was an uncomfortable reminder of what I put Carlisle through simply by existing. But I rubbed a hand against my neck listening hard as Evenson hurried towards the train station.

I could get to Cincinnati before him, easy. But Carlisle may have already left, it depended on whether he had come up with somewhere to go, and on where it was. If I was careful – extraordinarily careful – I could manage it. Or I could just put an end to this madness quickly, catch him now, pretend it was an accident-

But Carlisle would murder me. Well, he wouldn't. But that would be worse.

I sighed in utter, utter frustration. I had tried to help him sort out this convoluted, drawn out mess so many times, sat through so many stupid schemes, listened to so many hours of musing and planning and wondering (both verbal and not)- and yet it was neverending.

With a certain amount of resignation I went to find some shoes. Because I owed it to him, the same I way I owed him everything in the whole damn world.

{-}

It was dangerously hot in the city, the sun threatening to dip through the billowing black clouds at any moment. Midday had pushed through by the time I was scurrying up the right street, searching out the right number, trying to find Carlisle's thoughts among the chatter – it was like tracking a scent, trying to find his voice between my fingers. I knew it was bright, clear, throbbing with anxiety like a heartbeat and threaded through with a mild sort of panic which seemed more practised and showy than biting – I sifted and danced between the trivialities, but I couldn't find the cool, enveloping embrace wherever I searched. So with a little relief but a certain amount of guilty disappointment sinking in my frozen heart, I assumed he had come and gone. And I had no idea where.

I kicked at the dusty ground, shoved my hands in my pockets. Logically, he could have gone to any number of places. But if I didn't know, then Evenson couldn't know.

And if Evenson didn't know, someone was going to die. I felt his fingers twitching, a hundred miles away.

Argh.

There was a creak and my head snapped up to meet the gaze of a youngish woman with a certain amount of shock. It was the door I had run to, opening from the inside, and a redheaded woman clutching an armful of jumpers with an expression which was half harassed and exhausted, half curious.

"Hello?" she prompted. I gaped a little before realising I was the one standing on her doorstep, struggling to find the words to explain why.

"Um, yes. Sorry. I was just wondering after Mrs Esme, um, Evenson?"

Suddenly her warm, welcoming aura disappeared, the open, questioning expression on her face closed off in an instant as she folded her arms in front of herself.

"Who wants to know?"

"I'm Edward Cullen. I think you've probably met my brother Carlisle?"

I figured if there was anything which was going to help, his name would open more doors for me than anything I could say for myself. And her eyes flickered, her mouth twitched – he had clearly passed through, and made an impression. I tore my gaze from the ground and carefully sought out her face – manipulative, but effective. The pallor, the inhuman sort of grace, the glittering yellow in my irises ringed by spatters of black – I watched her piece it all together.

"Why?" she demanded, shifting slightly to block the entrance.

"You need to get out of here. Evenson's found out she was here, he's on his way."

Saying it made it real which was singularly horrible. But she didn't flinch, just nodded.

"Carlisle said he might. I'm going."

"Could you please tell me where they've gone? I have to find Carlisle, there's something I need to tell him-"

She frowned a little, her thoughts spinning off and irritatingly clear.

"Surely if he wanted you to know he'd have told you?"

"When he left home he didn't know where he was going himself. Please, just trust me – this is important."

And I had to get out of this city before I choked on the sheer smell of it.

She considered for a moment, I heard words flashing and mixing in her head but nothing specific enough.

"I'm sorry. I can't take anyone's word for anything today."

I didn't even know what I was doing, but as she tried to close the door I reached out and grabbed her wrist – I needed another chance. She whipped it away quickly, but not before her eyes widened and she turned back to me.

"You're freezing. Do you need some coffee or something?"

"Um, no. Thank you."

She paused for a moment, staring at my wrist with my last words hanging in the air. I rubbed over it self consciously.

"What's that?" she asked, gesturing towards the leather cuff.

"Family thing." I shrugged flashing the silver crest at her.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Carlisle had one like that too."

"A ring, a signet ring." I said hurriedly.

She sighed.

"I never doubted y'know. But I can't be sure you're not going to . . . I don't know. I'm sorry though, for what it's worth."

I admired how firmly she was sticking to her word but my God it was infuriating. If only I could lead her thoughts onto Esme's location rather than a swirl of confusion and overemotional plans . . . eventually I just sighed, rubbed my face in my hands. And what the hell.

"Have you seen them together?"

My hands twisted together and I lapsed into silence, trying to find a way to word it without sounding utterly insane.

"It's weird. Disconcerting."

How he said her name, like he was cupping his hand around a candle flame in the wind.

How with the smallest glance they seemed to fit together in the space between their eyes, as if they were already touching and talking.

How when they were apart, their smiles and laughs were only half full, and when they were together, there was something in their thoughts which sung.

"I mean . . . Carlisle . . . he has this reverence, like she's . . . I don't know. He wants to give her the world to convince himself he's good enough for her. And she just wants him. I don't . . . I don't believe in fate. But I could understand why anyone would."

The silence was louder than anything, but she broke it with something unexpected and absurd. In a flash, she threw her arms around me in a hug and I couldn't do anything but stand there, stiff as a board.

"I know." she whispered, right in my ear. I didn't move, didn't breathe didn't think and her hair was wafting under my nose like candyfloss soaked in amphetamines. "But honestly, I told them not to tell me where, so Evenson wouldn't be able to get it out of me. But you're a smart boy, you'll find them."

And despite all that, in her head she was screaming clear as day.

_Ashland. _

I stood awkwardly for a moment before wriggling out of her embrace, (_stopthinkingaboutit_) but the gratitude settling in my heart was profound. She hadn't trusted me, but I wouldn't have trusted me either, not with this. As the rain began to fall I couldn't help but find a flicker of familiarity between us. We had both watched and waited, alone. We had both prodded and hoped and prayed. We had both come to despise the monster of their own denial. And we had stood aside as they ensnared each other with every careful word.

"Good luck Edward." She said sincerely.

"You too." I replied, just as honestly. "He'll be here in about six hours. Do you need any help?"

She shook her head ruefully.

"All ready. I was just on my way out."

I didn't particularly want to take another breath, cut another scar of thirst down my throat. So I just nodded. I hope she realised I was grateful, I hope she realised what good she had done. Perhaps. Or maybe she had just guaranteed she would never see her cousin again. But in the grand scheme of things, I was happy to see her disappear back into her home and make the last few preparations for an escape because I'd hate to see another victim to this catastrophe.

Nevertheless, I lost her scent within five minutes, the moment I broke into the open country. Then I began to run. And run. And run.

{-}

It hadn't taken too long to explain all this to Carlisle. Over the time we had spent in each other's company we had developed a shorthand of sorts, I was shaping my story to answer his questions before they finished crossing his mind. And then the lies tripped off my tongue like caramel.

"She's fine. I can hear, she's just taking a minute to . . . whatever. She'll forgive you, of course she will. There's nothing to forgive."

And in the back of my mind was a young girl wracked with sobs and tearing herself apart from the inside out. But it was easier this way, it was for her safety that we were leaving to begin with.

I hoped dearly I was right.

From then on we talked as we ran, flitting through the night like bats (no, the irony is not lost on me.) Aside from the odd shaft of moonlight sweeping over his incandescent skin, I couldn't see anything but shadows, the screeching of insects and the leaves under our feet the only thing keeping me grounded.

"You have to get to him first, he's after her - to kill her this time. And you, he thinks. And he's on his way to her cousin's house and she's gone but someone's going to die if we don't stop him. But I knew if I started then I wouldn't be able to pull away . . ."

I trailed off, mildly embarrassed by my own incompetence. But it was true. Were I to get a hand around that mans throat, a set of teeth would surely follow. Then blood would lead to blood would lead to blood. I'd be half crazed with it, to the misfortune of anybody passing. And then I would have had to come home with eyes soaked in scarlet.

"Don't worry Edward, you did the right thing." He sighed.

_Maybe. Maybe you should have just killed him and let us be. _

I didn't flinch but he halted for a second, burning in shame and horror-

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I know." I shrugged, picking up the pace again, snapping back onto the scent we were tracking. He knew it as well as I did, so the faint traces of tar and burnt sugar were enough for us to follow. We were silent for a little while. The first interruption was mine, but I had to ask.

"Does she know what we are yet?" I said abruptly, not breaking my stride.

He was quiet, running through a thousand different things in his mind before settling on an answer of sorts.

_No. But I think she has some idea. I mean, it's mostly the fact that I haven't changed at all in ten years – she was a teenager back then and now she's lived far more life than she should have done whilst I haven't aged a day. She's definitely hinted, but she doesn't seem to want to ask. _

I'd figured this much. From everything I'd heard – she knew something wasn't right, but she was too scared Carlisle was the last wonderful dream of a shattered mind to ever confront him directly.

"And will you . . .?"

He sighed again, shutting his eyes for a moment.

_Yes. I can't keep lying and I won't change her without her consent. But I want her to have the baby first, I want her to be healthy and safe and then if she decides she wants me to go, I can leave and know she'll be OK._

I didn't quite know what to say to that. A few things slid into place, became a little clearer. It made more sense than I'd given him credit for.

Still.

"You'd change her?"

_Would it bother you? _He shot back, with a glance that was more interested than accusatory.

"Honestly?" I took a moment, hating that I had to say it out loud, where I couldn't take it back. "Yes."

He let out a breath he'd been holding and suddenly his thoughts switched to Latin – a refuge he rarely took, a language I deliberately stayed ignorant of just to give him the option of privacy. He had only used it once or twice though. His face was perfectly impassive but I sensed the struggle to keep it so.

"Why?" he asked eventually, in a voice so forced I barely recognised it.

"It's not that it's her in particular." I qualified. Was it that it was her? I wasn't sure. "It's just . . . I don't think anyone would choose this, if they were fully aware of everything. But she'd do anything you suggested at the drop of a hat. It doesn't seem fair just to ask her."

He paused, his whirling, incomprehensible thoughts slowing a little.

"So you're saying you'd never want me to change anybody, ever again, because you hate what I did to you?"

"No." I said quickly. "I just think you'd be misleading her, by asking. I mean, even without the fact that you are genetically designed to entice her – you saved her. She'd do anything for you. I don't think she'd be that shocked, she'd see this as a blessing. And when you're thinking straight . . . it's not."

_OK. I understand. _

The tone of his thoughts was desperately unwilling.

"You don't have to listen to me. But you asked, and that's what I think."

I was feeling uncomfortable now. I knew she sang for him, her blood was more potent than anyone else he had every met or would meet. I just didn't know if that was a good enough reason to sentence her to eternity. It was wrong of Carlisle to even consider it.

Oh who was I kidding.

I was pretty sure they would be deliriously happy together for all of eternity and I'd be damned if there was anyone who deserved it more. Carlisle devoted himself to those he loved, wholly and entirely and with a passion which was sometimes quite overwhelming from my perspective. Ever since he had met her, he had given himself entirely to Esme first, then the rest of the world second.

But it was what it was. The idea of a newborn, those urges and longings I had only just managed to get under control, infiltrating my mind every hour of every day – I would never see Carlisle, he'd be preoccupied, that I could handle. But having to effectively live through those first few months again . . . it was blindingly selfish, but it would be what I was agreeing to.

I shuddered but I don't think he noticed. We just kept moving, running towards whatever it was we were going to build our futures out of.

Eventually the scent we were following almost unconsciously now, grew overpoweringly strong - a tiny cluster of houses which could scarcely be called a village just a little way out of Cincinnati. We let instinct flood our bodies, keeping to the hunt without too much intervention of our brains, until finally we were creeping up to the entrance of a bar, a little light and chatter spilling from the half open door. It was very late, but there were still a few people clinging to their glasses. And the scents were mingling and mixing into a blend which was as enticing as it was repugnant – blood, sweat, alcohol and it was all so human I was salivating.

_You going to be OK?_

He had finally switched back to English it seemed, calmer now.

"Sure." I shrugged. "What are you going to do?"

His shoulder twitched into a shrug.

_I'm pretty sure just being here will be enough to provoke him frankly. I just want him on his own. _

"Are _you_ going to be alright?"

He nodded. "Yes. But y'know, shout I go too far."

I laughed hollowly. This seemed unlikely.

"I'll go and wait over there." I said, gesturing vaguely to the shadows. "I don't think either of us are going to want to know what he's thinking."

He nodded again, tight lipped. I backed away, without taking my eyes of him.

As he walked, the darkness in his eyes seemed to solidify. I tried not to listen. But I couldn't help it, his thoughts were raging like the crashing pool at the bottom of a waterfall.

I leant against a fence, shut my eyes, watching through Carlisle's instead. The bar was dark but with his inhuman eyesight, he picked out Evenson easily. A shadowy figure hunched over a table. Then Carlisle's spidery white fingers on his shoulder, gripping hard and ice cold. He jerked around, the shock slicing through his mind like lightening ("_What the fuck man?_") clambering to his feet and turning around ("_Got to be back on the road in two hours, can't be bothered dealing with weird-ass freaks_-") turned, and-

It was like an explosion, knocking the breath out of me – suddenly his mind was burning with fury and cackling with delight that Carlisle had seen fit to turn up, raging, spluttering anger twisted into a smile – and with an insight that shook me to bone, I realised Carlisle was mirroring him perfectly. Long held, long fuelled rage and a smug sort of assurance that he would be walking out victorious.

I knew who I would bet on.

Evenson had grabbed his arm before Carlisle could move, but in a swift motion he grabbed the larger man by the scruff of his neck, twisting his collar in his hand, and dragged him outside easily. I registered the shock which seized Evenson, the power coursing through Carlisle like blood. I saw them scuffling in the shadows as they emerged, startlingly quiet – every move Evenson made Carlisle blocked without a thought. And with a delicious sort of smile, I heard the panic rising in the man's brain like a tide.

"You've taken her." He snarled, trying to disguise his fear with bravado alone. "I know where, I'm going to-"

One hard blow from Carlisle and he shut up – choking on the blood gushing from his nose-

_Dammit, I didn't mean to make him bleed – sorry Edward, get out of here, now-_

I froze instead, transfixed. I could almost see the brightness of the red in the little light there was drifting about in the road between us. I could certainly smell it. It was certainly different from the other people's I had scented over my time, certainly it had an edge of something sharper – but blood was blood and _human _blood was something else entirely . . .

"Edward." Snapped Carlisle, knowing I'd be able to hear.

"Who the fuck is Edward?" demanded Evenson, scornful through the pain.

Carlisle took a moment, his grip unfailing on the man's shoulder, but he turned to look at me-

_Get out._

But I shut my eyes and couldn't move. I couldn't tear myself away from that smell, it was all I could do just to stay still . . . I poured every single fragment of my concentration into standing there, keeping my feet steady . . .

Two images were crashing through my mind, neither of them my own – I felt Carlisle trying to suppress his, I saw how the edges grew fuzzy, but I could easily make out myself crouched over Evenson's lifeless body, blood smeared around my mouth with more flooding from the horrendous wounds on his neck, red on white on black . . .

And then Evenson, his own personal massacre. I saw Esme curled on the floor, clear as day with her face unrecognisable under the blood and bruising, her limbs folded under at horrible angles, her eyes glassy and staring. Then with a jolt I recognised Harriet Fletcher, that strange woman, with all the life knocked out of her too – crumpled and broken with her face terrifyingly blank – then the child who had danced through Mrs Fletcher's thoughts every few moments, her hair matted with blood –her aunt's, her mother's, her own – her body still and empty. I was shaking with the effort of staying in my own mind, my hands pressed against my eyes as if that would block out the images.

It only took a moment.

"Edward!" Carlisle roared. I looked up vaguely.

There was something wet on my fingertips. Wet and red and it smelled rather interesting.

Something hot, pulsing, under my palm.

Carlisle seemed horrified, his face dismayed.

But honestly, I was fairly peaceful.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't speak, but I caught a flash of his thoughts – his memory – my eyes, black and hard like granite, the twist of my hand on his neck, the grunt because he didn't have the time to scream.

I looked down.

"Oh."

He was lying beneath me, his mouth open, but he was silent. His heart had stopped thumping, his mind had stopped spitting out the most loathsome things . . . the knees of my trousers were wet, I was kneeling in a puddle of his blood – drawn by Carlisle and not myself might I add.

"Doesn't the blood . . .?" Carlisle seemed more confused than disappointed, or angry. I gathered my thoughts together, held them in one place for long enough to understand a little more.

"It wasn't the blood." I said, unsure of myself now.

I heard no words, but I caught the flavour of Carlisle's thoughts. He was shocked, sickened, a tiny bit relieved, but the fear with which he looked at me was something I never forgot.

"Edward, you can't just . . . decide. You can't play god." He said, struggling to find the words for once in his life.

I shrugged, wiping my hands on Evenson's shirt and getting to my feet before the scent overwhelmed me.

"Are you sorry that I did it?"

He broke my gaze then.

I didn't know whether it was because he couldn't bring himself to agree with me, or whether he just couldn't stand the red pooling in my eyes.

{-}

_**A/N**__ – I wish to dedicate this chapter to my mother. Who cares nothing for Carlisle or Esme, but reads along faithfully anyway. Hope you enjoyed this little slice of your darling Edward. _

_The little bit of poetry up there was Cummings again. _

_There's still time to vote for my story in the Bring Me To Life Awards and I'd LOVE it if you could! Link's in my profile. _

_And as ever - feedback means the world, please consider leaving a couple of words in return! Thanks in advance! :D_


	24. Chapter 24

_OK, normally I A/N at the end because I know nobody cares, but today apologies preclude everything else. Not even apologies, because it's not my fault, but karma's clearly kicking me in the backside for some grievous transgression in a former life: the day after I posted the last chapter my cranky old PC went boom. Well it was less dramatic than that, it was more of a fizzle. But either way I lost my computer and everything on it, and I've only just got a shiny little netbook which I'm still learning how to type on. So I've been computerless and that's why this fic has been DEAD for like, three weeks. No data could be salvaged, so at the moment I'm trying to rewrite all of my planning notes from memory which is deathly but necessary if this story is ever going to end at all. (Back up your work girls!)_

_Anyway, here's the kicker – I was on schedule to have made a massive push and finished the whole damn story by today. Because I'm going on a thing – I guess you could call it a residential media placement of sorts, but I'm doing a straight fortnight of 18 hour days with zero recreational computer access and I am so so sorry for failing you all so entirely because you won't hear a peep out of me or Carlisle for a while. _

_If it's any consolation, my mother's probably more annoyed than you are, and she has the capability to nag me far more often. As well as withhold meals if the situation gets truly dire. _

_I have to disappear in half an hour but I'm going to see what I can bash out before I go. This won't be a whole chapter, just some tidbits. But thank you so so much for sticking with me if you have and I grovel for mercy at your feet to anyone who's still about. _

_Sorry again and much love,  
Clarissa xxx _

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

I didn't leave.

It crossed my mind every minute, running away from this haven, losing him as easily as I had lost everything. But I could never get further than the front gate without sighing a resigned little sob, letting my gaze break from the path which never really lay ahead of me to begin with, and turning back.

He had only ever asked two things of me but given me my life back – with or without him – in return. And if I couldn't do anything else to repay him, I could bow to those two, tiny requests.

_Please give me one chance to redeem myself. And stay safe._

I read the letter over and over, but it never changed. Sometimes the curls around his letters, the little blot over my name was enough to remind me of the warmth and love and comfort he had embodied for such a long time, but more often than not the cryptic fragments and half finished sentences made me want to throw it in the fire with frustration. Never did his pleading words ever do anything to assuage the guilt and horror and disgust gnawing away inside of me. With every thumping heartbeat it throbbed again, like a wound, flooding freshly through my mind until I felt sick.

Nothing had really made sense ever since the day I met him.

I couldn't bring myself to venture very far and I'm not sure where I would have gone if I had, but I felt like a particularly ungainly ghost in the empty house that night. This had certainly been my Carlisle's residence at some point – the only things I could find to read were medical tomes I dismissed immediately and heavy, dusty editions of Dickens and Tolstoy. I did come across an unassuming paperback of _Tess of the D'Urbervilles_, but I hastened to bury that one back in the bottom of the box. However I couldn't hide it in my mind, and for the rest of the time I was in that house it plagued my nightmares more than anything Carlisle could ever have done.

Hours trickled past. The rain kept me company though, and the occasionally little flutters in my stomach.

Still here, he was saying. Still fighting.

And God help me, if I couldn't do it for this little thing, I couldn't do it for anyone.

{-}

It was a horrible night, his vaguest insinuations tightening around my skull in the most awful headache. Dizziness teased and twinkled, every coherent thought drowned in doubt until I just wanted to shut my eyes and wake up back in my old life. Somewhere cold and muttering with old horrors, but somewhere I knew would stay solid, somewhere I could know the pain was real and measurable and finite. Not like this. The uncertainty was like the ground swaying under my feet, casting a different future in every angle of the light through the window and every time my breath caught I thought of another way this could only end in blood.

Slowly, my thoughts began to drag, to spool more lethargically from my mind, more vividly.

Colours and scents and clanging, clashing shouts rattled through my imagination until I was shaking. Baby wriggled a little in protest but I couldn't stop, clenching my hands and squeezing my eyes shut. Eventually I had to stumble through the back door, pushing out into the little, overgrown garden, just to get some cool air, air that hadn't been stagnating in that house for God knows how many years.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, pinkish and watery light glimmering over everything, but it was still too hot. I leant against the doorframe, breathing heavily, just watching the stillness. Honeysuckle and ivy creepers were twisting around the back fence but they were choked by weeds, spiny and dark and thrashing over every spot of colour. The grass itself was itching about my knees and I daren't cross through, childish fancies of snakes and monsters sneaking underneath and out of sight was enough to stop me. Hands locked over my belly now I sighed. It was such a waste. But I was too preoccupied with the buzzing in my ears to start mentally landscaping.

I looked up to the sky now, wispy ribbons of colourful clouds tangling together in beautiful patterns. They seemed to knot before my eyes, blurring as sweat dripped over my vision with a sting.

Something wasn't right.

And I was so preoccupied with the disasters unfolding messily in my mind  
and on watery paper in his incongruously neat handwriting  
and through every inch of my body  
and under the rustling chorus of the insects

that I couldn't even bring myself to cry.


	25. Chapter 25

**_Which Keeps the Stars Apart_**

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

I remember him.

I remember colours and music and pain and confusion but through the smoky blackness I always remember a pair of imagined golden eyes. Soft and sharp at the same time, questioning and somehow holding the answers to everything.

It was all I could hold, all I could grasp onto. Everything else was slipping through the hands of my mind like water, splashing and sinking with every needle-sting in my arm, every spasm of red, every ragged cry.

And then in a last, rattling shudder, he was the last thing to fall away.

{-}

It was nothing if not cliched. But I danced between greying, fading consciousness and the dark, sweeping shadows for God knows how long. First it was grass bunching under my fingers, then brickwork scraping red, bleeding tracks along my palms as I struggled to my feet, dragged myself out of the cursed house towards the black sillhouette of the hospital. Rhythmic and terrifying the pain crackled through me but I couldn't bring myself to consider it, to consider anything at all.

{-}

Babbling, chattering voices sluiced about me like water, there were damp sheets twisting under my hands, disinfectant stinging under my fingernails.

There was a higher keening cry but I couldn't see.

Then I couldn't see anything at all.

{-}

Panic, hot, burning, scarlet panic. Wild eyes and chattering teeth and bright cheeks and acid in my throat and sweaty, feverish memories of shouting for my doctor and my baby and my cousin and my mother and eventually, anyone at all.

{-}

And I surrendered.

Silence never came, the electric lights of the hospital ward scorching on my retinas, chaining me to reality.

But I couldn't move, every gasp of energy spent and dissolved. My limbs had turned to liquid, I couldn't do anything but pant shallowly, pray wordlessly.

With a trembling, glassy eyed whimper, I hooked my knees up to my chest, shifting under the grey blankets the nurses had heaped on top of me. Curling in on myself, twisting my arms around my stomach.

I was hollow. I was useless. I had failed.

Again.

{-}

Finally, there had been a moment, brief and silver and crystalline.

A hand on my shoulder, gentle and warm.

I had steeled myself to move, twisted enough to see.

The nurse by my bedside was cradling something, hidden in yellowish blankets.

And after a second of dawning comprehension I had scrambled up with my arms outstretched, eyes on fire.

And she had hesitated.

And I had faltered.

And the baby in her arms was quiet.

"I'm sorry." she had murmered. "He's not long for this earth."

Her words crashed down about my heart as I knew they would, tearing and black and poisonous. But in the silence afterwards, I heard the tiniest, shaky little breath.

The faceless woman slipped my baby into my arms without another word before she disappeared as quietly as she had come.

And I stared.

Because I couldn't do anything else.

All those cliches, all my daydreams, all those beaming, healthy, picture perfect babies with rosy cheeks and bubbling laughs.

And then there was my darling.

I could only see a sliver of his face, a peek of dark downy hair. But he was sick, terribly terribly sick. Every breath was a desperate effort, contorting his features, the skin stretched over his face nearly translucent and lavendar blue.

The bottom dropped out of my world as his eyelids fluttered.

And all I could see was a flat, dark, steely shade of grey I knew better than anything else in the world.

I wanted to be sick but I was frozen still.

I knew I would never have a child with those sparkling golden eyes. But I'd come so close to forgetting about . . .

I clutched my little boy to my chest and then I stopped noticing anything at all except the rasping, desperate snuffling of every breath he struggled to take.

And then I pressed a kiss to his forehead.

And then I started counting.

And that was that.

{-}

_Carlisle,_

_I'm sorry. I can't be certain of anything else right now, but I want you to know that I'm sorry._

_I'll never escape him. You know that as well as I do. I never should have tried in the first place, because now I've implicated so many people and there's only one thing I can think of to make you all safe again and I can only imagine what you're going to say . . ._

_I'm sorry. But now you can live your life without trying to shake me off, and without the choking, suffocating paranoia which has been my constant companion for so long now. I've failed as a daughter, a wife, a mother, and I promise you this is what I want. (something I want I can finally achieve) _

_Please don't feel guilty. The very prospect of peace is tantalising. Like I've been starved my entire life and now there's something there, just out of sight. Like if I close my eyes and reach out a hand and jump, I can grab onto some chance of salvation where it's quiet and still and away from this godforsaken place. __It used to be that I preferred the pain of living to the mystery of death. But not any more. Because everything hurts too much now, and I'm dead already. I just want it all to stop spinning. _

_Look after my baby in heaven. _

_I love you. _

{-}

**A/N** - If you're confused, I apologise. But not really. Because my pre-reader was, but she conceded that me being pretentious was far preferable to me attempting to write a childbirth scene. Bearing in mind I happen to be my pre-reader's firstborn and I do all my research on Wikipedia.

Glad to be back with you all, thanks for reading. xx


	26. Chapter 26

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Carlisle_

There was blood on our shoes as we ran back to Ashland.

We didn't discuss is much, but the scent was tingling under our feet, thumping a shadow on every footprint. Chaining us to our sin and our penance.

Edward seemed focused, he didn't take his dark eyes from the path to glance at any distraction for an instant. It would have been faintly worrying - I so wanted to know what he was thinking - but I had other things on my mind. Scary things, hulking in great shadows, blocking out the sun.

I had left her that letter but who would know whether that had been enough to stop her running?

"Edward, are we close enough yet?" I asked, quietly. I didn't want to seem as desperate as I was, even though in my heart I knew it was futile trying to hide anything from him.

"Nearly." he snapped, the first crack in his facade of calmness. It was well earned. I had been trying to push as much space as I could between each time I asked, but we were coming steadily closer to Ashland and Edward was listening for her hard. I didn't know how close he had to be though, whether the contact would have strengthened it, whether what she was thinking would affect it, whether anything. All I knew was that I needed to know and I needed to set things straight and that the long, dragging hours in between us were wearing away at my heart and my sanity.

I wondered vaguely what she would say. Horror or delight or guilt or would she never want to see me or Edward again? Or some combination of the lot. It would always have to be unnecessarily complicted.

I turned to look at Edward again. The intensity was coming off him in waves as he scanned the sea of voices, searching out Esme's to snatch on to. I wished I could do it myself, hating the responsibility I shoved on his shoulders, but-

"Carlisle shut up. This would be infinitely easier without your obsessive inner monologue." he snapped again.

A flash of rectionary hurt then I quashed it, flattened my thoughts into silence. Because of course it would and of course it should be.

It was harder though, trying to keep quiet. Occasionally something would surface, an odd panic spiking out of the nothingness, but this was a skill I had long since perfected. Something I could do and something that would help.

I didn't take my eyes of Edward's face though, I ran without thinking. It was expressionless and still and frustratingly blank. So blank, in fact, that I almost thought I was imagining it when I caught him flinch - almost imperceptibly - the mask slipping for a second. I bit my lip but he knew I had noticed and was more careful.

He did push on a little faster though. I had thought we were going at full pelt but I had forgotten he was quicker - he inched ahead, pulling me on.

He had found her, I was almost positive. But whatever he had found was . . .

Clenching my teeth I forced myself, against every instinct, to reach out, grab his arm and together we skidded to a halt.

"Edward. Tell me."

This time when he turned, the cool expression had dissolved in the heat of his anger. I almost stepped back, the fire in his eyes was so strong, and instantly realised the stupidity of my action.

"Carlisle, you won't be able to do anything unless you get there. Now for God's sake, just run."

With that, he ripped his arms free and picked up his pace again - not the pace we had been running at, his own, which left me unashamedly behind.

Panic surged through my heart like acid and I channeled it straight into my limbs, working them faster. I had never seen Edward like this, he was running flat out, as focused as he ever had been on a hunt. I realised that was it, he had surrendered himself to the scent, allowing it to draw him in, but with enough distance that he could resist the final conclusion, which wasn't quite so inevitable these days. In retrospect I could be quite proud of him. But at the time, blind panic was all consuming and fuelling me ever further.

The scent, the key to this whole chase had been strengthening the nearer we got, but now it was close enough to discern properly. I teased apart the familiar strands of honey and passionfruit and jasmine and whatever the hell it was, pouring every shard of concentration I could dredge up into this pointless analysis - anything to keep my thoughts occupied. But as it got stronger, I could sense a different note, pricking near the edge of the spectrum - it had been an interesting study, watching her scent develop through age and pregnancy but it had always been gradual - this was new and sharp and had come on extraordinarily quickly. Something stinging and metallic, just fringing the corners . . .

I was on the verge of breaking my silence and shouting for Edward to slow down so I could catch up, to grab him and shake Esme's thoughts out of him when I was jolted back to reality.

He had stopped.

In an instant I was there, sick with fear and God help me, I didn't care what he was going to say, I was going to get the truth of of him somehow.

"What, what is it?"

My words were laced with fear and I hated it. Impatiently I pulled Edward to face me - but his eyes were tight shut, one hand pressing against his forehead. His lips were moving, quick, frantic words, but he wouldn't spare me a sound.

"Edward!"

I was shaking now, I could almost hit him.

But then he let he let his hand fall down to his side, his eyes flicker open. They were flat and empty.

Slowly now. The urgency had gone.

"What?" I asked. One more time. Pleading now.

"Carlisle, I think . . . I'm sorry but . . ."

And I think he was. Sorry I mean. For the first time, he was sorry.

"She's gone over a cliff. She's dead."

There was a moment of confusion.

And then it fell into place.

And it was like I had been thrown underwater because I couldn't see anything, couldn't hear Edward as he repeated my name, pointless words, couldn't feel his hand on my arm, couldn't see the dawn breaking and casting glimmering shafts of light over my skin.

Everything fell away.

Until all I could register was the soft, singing scent I had cherished for so long, barbed with rusty blood and the last stuttering echoes of something acrid and gritty on my tongue.

It was there, somewhere, it was trembling in time with her heartbeat.

It had to be.

It hadn't been a second before I threw Edward out of the way and started to run.

He shouted, but I don't know what. Then I think he set after me, but somehow he never managed to catch up.

I shut my eyes, let my senses overwhelm me. For once in my life I managed to push away analysis and reasoning and rational thought because it didn't even occur to me to try.

The scent led me on and I ran blindly.

Gravity pulled me home.

{-}

The panic rising in me began to churn and blister in my eyes as I skirted around Ashland, leading away from the house and the hospital and the little haven it was all going to be. As I ran I found myself piecing together old fragments of geography, flashing past forests I had hunted in, little farmhouses in which I had attended to a birth. A broken leg.

God be with me, God be with _her_, make this not be-

Then a flashing bright memory streaked across my mind from those days - a girl, twelve years old, carried in by her desperate father - she was blue lipped and shaking hard, almost unconscious, her clothes and hair sodden. She was still wearing the ice skates in which she had tumbled through the ice, and her legs were bloody where she had smashed into the rocks on the bottom, a peculiar outcropping of sharp, jagged-

A moan tore through my throat as I careered around a corner, the scent almost drowning now, because I saw what I knew I would see. The sun was rising gently over the cliffs, a fringe of trees softening the top and scattering the light. But the drop was straight and impossibly high and this couldn't be couldn't be couldn't be-

I charged on, because what else could I do.

But when I reached the edge of the lake - wide and smooth and as still and reflective as a looking glass - I had to stop, to search. Everything converged at an unremarkable little spot straight across from me and it didn't take a second of thought before I plunged straight in to the water.

It was freezing, even though the sun was searing white, luminescent streaks over every exposed inch of my skin, but I didn't feel it. I didn't break my pace, it felt little different from the endless race to get to Ashland - tearing a churning blue ribbon across the glass surface. It roared in my ears, loud enough that I couldn't have heard any other thought even if I had wanted to.

I was across in a flash, swinging up onto an incongruously placed rock emerging from the water. It was flat enough to stand on, so I straightened up, swiped the water out of my eyes and forced myself to look.

The scent was so strong, sticking in my throat like wax.

And then I saw her.

A dark little shape, hidden in shadows, curled upon a patch of pebbly beach raised out of the lake. A few steps, a leap across and-

Oh God. Oh _Esme_.

I was on my knees beside her, blind to anything else, and she was here and she was gone.

She was completely still, a crumpled knot of limbs twisted out of place and bones smashed to pieces and an empty face with half closed eyes. I was staggering backwards before I knew what I was doing, hands over my face.

There was blood everywhere.

And I couldn't make myself look up.

Everything in me had turned to liquid, I sank to the floor.

After all that had happened and before all that was going to happen.

Yet here were the last broken scraps of the woman I was arrogant enough to think I would be able to fix.

{-}

"Carlisle?"

The whisper was soft enough that it made me leap to my feet, twisting about to see who had-

"Carlisle."

Stronger now. And there was Edward, walking towards me with cracks of apology in his eyes and words on his lips.

"Don't." I said blankly. "Don't say it."

Because this was what he had wanted wasn't it?

I looked away again, I couldn't bring myself to qualify that last, biting thought.

But he didn't seem to mind.

I watched him as he watched her.

Then he reached out a hand and -

"Carlisle!"

I had been across the short distance between us in an instant, knocking his arm away and landing between him and her with blazing eyes.

"No."

He looked at me desperately.

"Don't- I- Carlisle, it's just . . . can you hear that?"

I let my gaze fall.

"What?"

He looked unwilling to part with whatever it was in his mind.

"I don't want to make you think . . . in case I . . . but you might not have heard because you weren't listening."

My hands burned and I wanted to stike him down, once, properly.

"If you insist on being here then please do me the common courtesy of making sense?"

I had intended to burn him with my words instead, to hurt. But my voice was quiet and trembling and I don't know what I was doing.

"Listen to her." he said again, maddeningly. And then mercifully, he walked away.

I exhaled, slowly. The scent was already fading. I sank to my knees again. In all my life, I had to remember this, if everything else dissolved away through the endless years. I needed to know this rosy scent of everything we had ever loved.

I closed my eyes, let my hand skim over her skin. My scarf, the one I had tucked around her neck and under her coat on that first, wonderful morning of escape, was itchy under my fingers. Then wet with blood. I pulled back, catching on the distinctive touch of a hospital gown.

What on earth had happened.

Why the hell had I left her.

And I realised with a last, shuddering fit of fury that the answer to both of those questions was Charles Evenson.

I pushed my hands against my face again. What was I going to do now, what was I going to do with Edward? Who, after all that, had been right all along. It never could have ended in the happily ever afters I was insisting on.

Quietly, I closed her eyes, pulled her hair loose, wiped a splash of blood from the corner of her mouth.

A twig snapped behind me. Edward again.

I let my breath fall in a shuddering sigh.

And then obligingly, I listened.

There were birds herelding the dawn.

The soft lapping of the water on the shore.

The breeze tugging the leaves into a rustling dance.

My own breathing, shaky and irregular.

The soft, almost-not-quite-there whisper of a heartbeat.

In a flash of limbs and skidding sand I was beside her again, scrambling to my knees. Hovering my head over her chest, I leaned in and froze still.

There was an agonisingly long silence.

And then the tinest flutter, like a dying butterly trapped inside her ribcage.

In that moment, everything crashes back into place. A vague, imagined Marcus-esque life of endless years of desolation and loneliness and only ever being quite-half-complete seemed to snap into non-existence under my feet, and suddenly I could see in colour again.

I looked again - properly now, but not with a doctor's eye. Careful, skimming hands and senses and feelings and half-clear memories are all I use to catalogue everything. Faster than I ever had before I crash together injury upon injury in my mind. Breaks and sprains and gashes - every time I find something I am torn with horror, but with every instant of unbroken skin I find myself grinning too hard and soon my vision is blurry with burning tears that cannot fall.

Edward is behind me but I studiously ignore him, touching over her ribs and measuring and counting and praying.

I know what to do now. I won't risk anything so much as a papercut when I have immortality glistening on my teeth.

"Carlisle." said Edward, his hand on my shoulder. I took a second before tearing my eyes away from her, looking up at his serious face.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure this is what she wants?" he asked, his voice neutral.

My heart, already beaten to ruin, clenches once more.

"If it's the newborn year, I'll help you work through it with her, I-"

"No, no." he said hurriedly. "I know. But she wanted to die. I heard it. I just don't want you to do something she's going to regret."

I was coursing with adreniline and elation and terror and -

"Edward there isn't _time_-"

He reached over me and this time I didn't stop him. His fingers rested briefly on her cheek, curiously, before he reached into the pocket of her nightgown.

The little scrap of paper - the note - felt like a moth's wing in my hand.

It was for me.

And it made me feel dizzy with something I can't even name. Helplessness, guilt. Fury. Something that made me want to grab her, then run away from the whole damn world.

"But I can give her safety. I can give her peace." I was choking on my own voice, staring up at Edward like I needed him to justify this. If he agreed, we could share the guilt of the most selfish thing I could ever do.

He was quiet.

"You can't give her a child."

There was a moment of stillness.

But time was running out.

"Edward, you know better than I could."

I surrendered. All I could do was watch. The sun was throwing enough light that he seemed positively incandescent standing above me, and somehow her limp hand was in mine.

"She was thinking a lot of things, before her mind went blank." he said expressionlessly, dragging out his words to give himself more time.

An agony of silence, but I'm sure it was more painful for her.

And then he sighed.

"No, you're right. This is exactly what she wanted."

He retreated back into the shadows, before he could even glimpse the grateful words hovering on my lips, and then it wasn't a decision any longer.

The injuries and injuries-waiting-to-happen swam before my eyes but very cafefully I managed to scoop her up into my arms. Featherlight and terrifyingly still, but I had her, at last, and surely the worst was behind us.

There was a brief, shaking, wild eyed moment when I could positively hear the world crashing down around me.

"Edward, follow me." I muttered, not taking my eyes off Esme's face. It was quiet and still, and I pressed a kiss to it, gently, trying to ignore the blood that smudged off on my mouth. I could almost fancy her eyelids fluttered.

{-}

Edward was still a few feet away, watching everything unfold with a torn sort of misery in his heart. Carlisle's thoughts are overwhelming, and he tries not to listen.

When a quieter, tiny, fading voice seeps over Carlisle's plans and prayers he barely hears it. But like a tiny, feather of a thought he sees through Esme's eyes as Carlisle looks down and promises everything's going to work out. And his eyes are overbright, almost luminous gold, his skin glittering like diamonds. She sighs and smiles in her mind, and she feels his arms supporting her and she drifts off into darkness.

She thinks she's died.

And he wishes he could tell her she was right.

_A/N Gotta run now, but hope you enjoyed, reviews are gold! Thanks!_


	27. Chapter 27

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Carlisle_

As I hurried through Ashland, as fast as I could without jostling her, I was vaguely aware of a few things. The sun burning on my skin, the double takes of a handful of strangers emerging early for newspapers and milk. The steady rhythm of Edward's footsteps behind me. The task I was about to perform weighing heavy on my heart. But mostly I was preoccupied with every little trip of her heartbeat, thanking God every time it stuttered and tumbled and lived.

Edward leaped ahead of me as we approached the Ashland house, kicked the door in so I could go straight through. There was no furniture except for a blood-stained sofa that hadn't been blood-stained before. So I sank to the floor, placed her down carefully. I could barely look, she was so terrifyingly still. But I knew I could change that.

I'd never forgive myself for doing it, but I'd never be able to live with myself at all if I didn't.

I took a second, but we couldn't afford longer than that. The long suppressed memories of my own three days changing were suddenly thick in my mind, and the time I spent by Edward's side as he screamed. But then I looked at her. And I remembered everything we were going to do, everything we were going to have, everything the world owed us.

And the seconds were tipping away until there was no time at all.

I pushed a handful of tangled hair out of the way, baring a bruised, bloodied patch of her neck. A canvas of sorts. And I steeled myself as best I could, cutting off my breathing and praying with an intensity I didn't know I possessed.

The patter of her heartbeat flickered and faded.

But I was ready.

I leaned inwards, found the little hollow where the blood was pooling. Rested my nose against it for a second, calculations whipping through my mind, lightening fast - where could I catch her artery, where would be the best place - all delaying the inevitable.

But in the end it was easier than I expected. The full consequences and such didn't trouble me until afterwards - so intent was I on the physicalities, on the futile attempt to cause as little pain as possible.

My teeth sank into her flesh, soft and as unresisting as butter. It was like every half formed, dark-edged fantasy I'd ever had but a thousand times better - salty sweat melting with the sweetness of her flesh and finally she was going to be okay. I felt the blood pour into my mouth but I waited until it was uncomfortably full before spitting it out - the flood of nectar was indescribable, clusters of stars exploding in front of my eyes. But I held, focusing hard. I conjoured her face in my mind, her voice, her scent, so strong I could almost touch it.

I forced a flood of venom into her, choking and gagging on the poison - when I couldn't stand it any longer I pulled away, swiped my tongue over the punctures to seal it in. I hoped it would be enough, but what was it to hope any more.

I shut my eyes, placed a hand on her neck just to feel it. The erratic little pulse was gone, but she was still limp and unmoving and I couldn't bring myself to look at her empty face. I couldn't remember what Edward had been like - with a flush of icy fear it occurred to me that I may have been too late.

But before I could do anything else, there was the subtlest, tiniest ripple of movement underneath my fingertips. And as my eyes snapped open I could do nothing but watch as her body arched up, knotted with tension, before she crumpled to the floor again panting. My heart jumped in a flash of euphoria, elation, purest gratitude - I scrambled to her side and found it in myself to exhale in relief. It was a second of callousness, selfishness - she was going to come back to me - and lasted until I realised - I remembered-

Her eyes flew open as the first scream ripped from her throat - it was high and louder than I had imagined she could be, soaked with the pain burning through her body - and as it sparked over her face, I felt my insides freeze to ice. I grabbed onto her hands, tried to ease the shuddering spasms crackling through her like an electric current - but it was no use as I heard bones crunching back into place, skin knitting together with needle-sharp stitches. The first scream died to a whimper, but the tears clung to her eyes like acid - already it was beginning. The soft, brown colour had been drowned in black and it was with a start I realised that I was never going to see it again.

I wasn't ready for this.

She was clenching and freezing before softening and melting and falling again, fitting and burning and changing into something she-

"Carlisle, I-"

I didn't turn around but it took my a moment to remember Edward standing behind me.

"I'm sorry, I can't-"

"Go then." I said, the calmness trembling and easily faked. "You'll know when it's over."

He nodded, and I almost felt the relief emanating off him as he fled.

After Edward left I made careful incisions in her wrists and ankles, pouring more venom into her system until it was methodic enough to feel like I was doing something worthwhile.

Esme's face was guttering like a candle, but her eyes were burning like hellfire.

I clutched her hand, kept sweeping her hair out of her way, adjusting and fidgeting and skimming my hand over her skin to feel it whole again. She was writhing under my touch now, shuddering through every minute but she was disconcertingly quiet. Already she was so far removed from my Esme - smiling or crying or pondering, with words alighting her thoughtful face like fireflies - that it was hard to even imagine what may have happened in three days time.

But I pushed all that out of my mind, tried to concentrate.

And I tried to remember that this was a small price to pay for forever.

_Edward_

I didn't go too far. Close enough that I would be able to hear him if he needed me to, far enough away that I wasn't drowning in _her_.

It was so hopelessly pathetic. I knew that then, I know it now. But there was no point in me suffocating alongside, there was nothing useful I could have been doing.

I hate that I'm still trying to justify this to myself.

But he only heard her when she screamed.

Her thoughts weren't clear or linear in any sense of the word. Instead there were explosions of the most intense colours and the loudest sounds, distorted memories of every other grip of pain she'd ever felt, fire and ice so cold it burned harder. Then seizures of black so sudden it felt like my stomach was dropping away. It was dizzyingly confusing and I felt sick after a full minute, but then there was the pain.

She was concentrating so severely as at first, as her broken body started to snap back into place, then as the fire began to tear through her veins. It mixed up with my own half hidden memories of the change, Carlisle's desperate, silent pleas for someone to help her through this, her terror and confusion and every twisted theory she almost managed to hold still in her mind.

I tried to block it off a little, to deflect some fragment of the mirror. But I couldn't even manage that with a passerby, let alone anything so intense. So I had fled. And now it was just an itching, dancing, hurting little flutter at the back of my mind.

The only thing was, I could never run away from Carlisle. His voice was always strong in my mind, wherever I went, whatever I did. So I sat under a tree, across Ashland, watching the street wake up around me, and I listened to him. He was praying intermittently, piecing together his own theories about how he could minimalise the pain and a few scraps of practicalities, but mostly he was talking to her.

The houses in front of me were big, sprawling candy coloured affairs, like scaled up dollhouses. The sun's rays were spiking over the top, christening another fine summer morning. But the shadows from the tree trapped me underneath, safe from the light.

_. . . it'll pass, I promise. I know I've promised you a lot of things but this will only last as long as it takes to make you safe and well, trust me . . . _

A man emerged from the house a little way along, pushing a hat onto his head. He turned back around, kissed his wife, smiled a secretive smile and carried on his way . . .

_. . . only a couple of days, you can get through this my love. I know it seems like a lot now but once it's done it's done and I hope to God you'll think it worthwhile . . . _

The man disappeared around the corner. Daisies were dancing in the gentle breeze, shaking off the morning dew. A sleepy eyed boy on a bicycle trundled past.

_. . . wait til you meet him properly. I know I've only given you the vaguest impressions but I'm sure you understand why now, the blood and such - but he's done so much for us already, I can't even . . . _

I buried my face in my hands.

. . . _(I don't know if I can do this on my own.)_

{-}

He didn't say anything when I walked back in. It had been four,five hours perhaps, but as far as I could tell he hadn't moved three inches from her.

I paced around, slowly so as not to shock him, and because the intensity of the girl's thoughts was rendering me mostly useless for anything more. She was still now, curled in a limp, boneless heap on her side and panting shallowly, shaking hard.

I stood, frozen still, because her pain was ghosting through every inch of me.

"Hello Edward," Carlisle said, his voice cracking the silence like ice. It was blank, like what I could make out of his expression - he was crouched beside her, head bowed and eyes locked on her face.

"Mm."

I had no idea what to do.

"I heard you." I said, uselessly.

"Okay." he said evenly. But he was quiet, his thoughts soft and still.

"Don't stop on my account." I said awkwardly.

He shifted slightly.

"I don't want to make life more difficult for you." he said, weary now. "I'm sure Esme's thoughts are enough for you to handle right now and I doubt she can hear me anyway."

"She can." I said quietly. "Not clearly, not coherently. But bits and pieces."

And between us, she twisted, whimpered, stilled.

I let my legs fold underneath me, joined him on his vigil.

And he was silent for maybe half an hour. But slowly, he began to talk.

I didn't hear anything though, I couldn't concentrate. Instead I listened to Esme, listening to him.

Whenever a cluster of his words broke through the dense, smoky barrier of pain, I felt the thin strings of her conscious thought thicken. She took heart and hope from his soft, fluid voice more than what he was saying. But it was nothing against the relentless, white-hot fire forcing through her skin, pulsing and striking and flaring unbearably.

I flinched in time with her wailing screams, twitching every time she thrashed. But if I could be any sort of company for Carlisle I was prepared to choke down everything I wanted to say to him. It could wait. After all, now he had bitten, we had all the time in the world.

After a little while there was a hand on my arm, sticky with the girl's sweat. I opened my eyes and was surprised to see him actually looking at me, leaving her unsupervised for at least three seconds.

"Edward if you need to go, go. But please - is there anything I could be doing here? Can you tell?"

I shook my head, pressing my lips together. He didn't want to hear it.

"There must be something." he said raggedly. "What's she thinking about?"

Now I did meet his eyes in a brief, haunted glance.

"No."

I hadn't wanted to speak because my voice was laced with the pain I wasn't even truly feeling. But I couldn't let him try to-

"Please."

"Don't."

"Just once."

"Stop it."

"Edward this is the only halfway helpful thing that-"

"OK!"

And suddenly I wasn't in control of my own mouth.

"She has no idea what's happening, stop trying to explain it, all she knows is the pain and she wants to die, she thought she had, she's convinced she's enroute to hell for committing suicide and everything else she's ever done wrong but she doesn't mind so much because that means there's a heaven for you. But she thinks she's truly failed at everything she was ever granted to do in life, even death, she's tearing herself apart because her baby never got baptised, she's hurting like nothing you've ever- well, one thing you've ever - and she never imagined anything like it, but now she's stuck there, at the mercy of every type of pain the human body is capable of enduring and plenty that it's not and it's all your fault. And the worst part is that it will never ever ever be worth it, because all you've done is damned her to this life that isn't a life because you're a selfish, bleeding-heart murderer who can't keep his own decisions straight for more than a clear second."

I was on my feet, I was screaming, I was spilling and overspilling with pain that wasn't mine. My throat was raw and burning but hers was indescribable.

Carlisle was trying to speak, trying to think straight but I couldn't face his answer, so I did what I always did. I ran and I didn't look back.

_Esme _

At first I couldn't feel anything. It was quiet and dark and peaceful and finished.

But then there was a spray of cold water on my face. I tried to burrow back into the darkness but there were hands underneath me and the floor disappeared but his eyes looked like Carlisle and that was okay. But everything started to hurt. So I pushed away from the shore in my mind and thought perhaps by some kind benediction of his, I could die.

There was peace.

And then in a carefully orchestrated little explosion in my neck, it shattered. And the shards converged and sank back into my skin in the most intense, burning, biting agony I had ever encountered and my broken vocal cords found it in themselves to scream.

I don't know how long it lasted, but it was relentless, ceaseless, cutting through every thread of coherent thought and jolting through me like fire. My blood froze and cracked, my skin melted and my voice sapped enough of the pain to shriek.

There were voices, some cool and measured, some shouting and furious. Muddled sounds of prayer and fragmented conversations about gifts and retribution and forgiveness. One voice came and went several times, the other never seemed to leave.

But I couldn't hear couldn't speak couldn't think. The pain shook me through before I had the chance to think of one word at a time so I surrendered to the nightmare. I spent a few moments trying to endure my penance before my resolve shattered and I was begging for that tiny snatch of darkness and peace I had been gifted with, for any sort of respite at all.

It was unending.

Vague faces mixed through the redness of the pain, Carlisle and Charles and the nameless angel of my tiny, frail little child. But they were drowned almost instantly, every time with the cruel, searing touch of fire.

I remember everything.

I have not forgotten because I cannot forget.

_**A/N**__ - Would be very interested to hear any thoughts on this if you could be so kind! _


	28. Chapter 28

_**Which Keeps The Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

It was like a dream of a dream of a death.

Cool, white nothingness dripped over my fingers and toes like anesthetic.

The touch of some sympathetic angel, soothing away the fire, inch by inch.

Until eventually the pain converged.

And arced in a desperate, soaring, clutching crescendo in my heart.

Before a tumbling, clattering, startling sort of spiral, raging in on itself like a supernova.

Then it sputtered and sparked

and seized me in a final clawing shriek

before fading away as quickly as it had come.

.

.

.

There was silence.

{-}

Sensation came back to me gradually, much as I tried to fight it. Before I had been floating, blind to everything except the pain. But now there was feeling creeping back into my bones.

I kept my eyes closed, stayed deathly still for fear of jolting the embers and reigniting the pain. Carefully I inventoried my own body, mentally touching along the lines that felt like they had been broken and shredded into a thousand pieces. Even then I knew something was not quite right. But I was more confused than relieved when I realised what it was.

I didn't hurt. There was a scraping, burning feeling in my throat, but aside from that, nothing. At all.

I had been snapped and ravaged and dissolved, but the quiet strength asserting itself in my limbs assured me that I was healthier than I had been in years. There was no aching or residual anything - it was as if the last however-long had never happened at all.

If I had dared to assume or expect, this would not have been anything I could have dreamt of.

My eyes resolutely shut, I attempted to piece it together but came up blank. As far as I could tell there was something very much like grass under my legs, ticking the back of my neck, a breeze over my face. I could feel every fiber of a damp cotton nightdress, hear each rustle of what sounded like the trees from every side. The air was an ocean of scents swimming about me, disconcertingly strong - woodsy smells of grass and animals but also a convergence of everything incongruously lovely - a thousand shades of butterscotch and mint, cinnamon and sugar, seawater and starlight.

I inhaled to get a better snatch of it, and someone sighed.

"Esme?"

At first the sound startled me, but it didn't take another instant to recognise the gentle, worried tone of a voice I never forgot. A bubble of hope and delight and scant disbelief blossomed in my chest, and before that hope had a chance to fly away, I opened my eyes.

The explosion of colour and movement almost blinded me - or rather it felt like it, because in all my human life I don't believe I ever held as much in one gaze than I did at that moment, or any moment afterwards. If my heart were still beating it would have jumped, if my old, clumsy instincts had remained I would have clamped my eyes shut and scrambled to my feet, prepared to flee from the world. I suppose that was my biggest indication that something was different, because all I could do was to stay, frozen still, and to stare.

From the furthest reaches of my peripheral, there was a landscape so beautiful, and so real that it couldn't be anything other than imaginary.

Even under the layers of beauty and light I recognised it. A little way out of Ashland in the forest that clung around the town. Just trees and stars and grass and empty air, but I could see - really see - everything, in the most infinite, incomprehensible, stretching definition of the word. I couldn't move, the weight of the world above me pinning me to where I lay. Every dancing shadow, every rustling leaf, the glint of every firefly, every feather of the owl watching me apprehensively from the treetops. The sky was like someone had set it alight, the dancing luminescence of every star melting together until the bands of rainbow spectra ringing the moon hypnotised everything else out of my view.

I could see everything, except the one thing I would have died again to see.

"Esme don't panic . . ."

I couldn't be imagining him, I refused to consider the possibility. So slowly, anticipating the dizzy waves of exhaustion and confusion that never really came, I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest. This was quite the most surreal experience but somehow, I was calm. Because when I had stepped off the edge of that cliff, I had left myself open to any sort of fate, so I couldn't be scared. I had stepped into this magic with a surefooted leap.

But when he walked around in front of me, eyes locked on mine with his arms outstretched, I felt every fragment of the weight of apprehension and bewilderment slide off my shoulders.

I got to my feet silently, ready to hear anything. As long as this wasn't a dream. It was like I was seeing him for the first time, planes of white and shadow and perfection, but all I really noticed were his eyes which were crowded with a thousand shards of honey coloured glass.

"There's a lot I need to explain."

I wanted to free the questions buzzing around my mind like insects, but I wasn't sure if I could speak past the scorched, ashy dry pain in my throat. He took my hands and it felt like nothing I can even describe - cool skin sliding against each other, fitting perfectly and without even thinking I could feel every particle of our beings sparking and touching and living.

If that moment had been the end of everything, I would have been smiling.

"I should have told you before, but I never anticipated . . ."

He didn't break my gaze, but something splintered in his eyes. I remembered with him, expecting a wave of pain, anguish, any sort of feeling as I felt my toes bleeding on the edge of the cliff - but instead, I experienced the detached sort of images of a mere observer. My memories were filed away in my mind, but waiting quietly for me to acknowledge them like a padlocked library. These wonders were ceaseless.

"I'm sorry." he said quietly. "But we have time later to discuss that. Right now we need to . . ."

He trailed off, suddenly looking over my shoulder into the forest. I swallowed back a mouthful of something sticky that tasted like death, but it only burned harder against the fire in my throat.

"Carlisle what is this-"

I clapped a hand over my mouth, the first shocks of wide eyed fear finally trembling through me. The shaking, cracking voice I had expected was fluid and musical and mildly terrifying.

He looked like his heart was breaking as I spoke.

"The thirst, that's what you're asking."

I nodded, vague ideas swirling about my mind. This wasn't my life. But it wasn't death,of that I was oddly certain - it was too real, too amazing, he was more of a blessing than I ever could have possibly deserved. But whatever this was, my limbs were working and my voice didn't shake and he was standing here in front of me with everything else falling away.

"I . . . Esme. First I need to ask you to forget every . . . preconception. Everything you've ever heard about vampires."

Vampires. Whatever could he . . . I reigned in my mind, stopped the wandering, directionless observations. And carefully, I remembered.

Paperbacks with lurid covers and wonderful, thick spines that cracked like music under careless hands, descriptions so deliciously gratuitous they dripped off the pages like honey. Old pictures and older inscriptions in the faded, crumbling scriptures on the lectern, occasionally seeping into those horrible, vivid, fever-fuelled dreams. But mostly, the fairytale villain of a campfire ghost story. Long, happy evenings ending with someone spinning a tale of cloaks and blood and cliches, and when the tension was stretched to the most unbearable thinness, some boy from the village would pounce on our backs, grabbing at our necks, trying to gnash his teeth through cackles as we shrieked in terror and laughed until we cried.

It's curious I suppose, how quickly my stomach dropped away and the ghost of my heart jumped into my mouth. But perhaps my new mind had something to do with that, quietly sorting through a lifetime of memories and displaying them before me in a quick, flickering sort of half-nightmare.

After all, to my knowledge, he had never eaten, never slept. Never ventured out in the sunlight when I was with him. Never invited me back to his home, never properly introduced me to his son. Never seemed to have any other friends or family. And he had always been powdery white, disconcertingly cold. And sometimes anachronisms would surface in his speech, or an odd inflection I could only place in England.

And suddenly my neck was burning, burning, burning around a mouthful of icy white scars.

"What?" I whispered, hating the delicate, melodic way my voice twisted in terror.

"I'm sorry," he said, abjectly miserable, waiting for me to sort it through in my mind. "When I found you, I couldn't let you . . ."

I tried to panic, but I couldn't breathe for trying.

". . . so I changed you. But we have to talk about this later, we have to get you fed before something happens . . ."

Of course Dr. Cullen was a vampire. Of course it should stand that everything in my life, that seemed to come so easily to everyone else in the whole damn world should be wrong somehow. I had been gifted with the most unique string of bad luck granted to anyone. And so the one fit of happiness I had managed to procure would inevitably be . . .

I felt myself becoming faintly hysterical but I tried to swallow it down.

"What kind of something?"

"The thirst, it's for blood-"

After that I didn't hear whatever he was saying, that one word sticking and screaming and tattooing itself on my mind.

I wasn't going to- I couldn't-

"Esme!" he said, shouting now and pulling on my hands. "Please, just one second - it doesn't have to be human blood, but that craving, it won't go away. You need to hunt. That's why I brought you out here, the humans smell . . . different."

"Hunt what?"

"Deer mostly. Lions if we can find them, bear, fox, whatever."

I nearly jumped out of my skin as this new voice appeared behind me, and with it a new scent - like sandalwood, something more flighty and hormonal than Carlisle. I spun around before I recognised the boy who had burst in that night - Edward. But now he was standing still, a little way off with his arms wrapped around himself and a faintly worried expression. I started slightly as I noticed his eyes, the brightest scarlet, glinting in the moonlight but I averted my gaze at his cold look. Instead I noticed the reddish brown of his hair was full of twigs and leaves and his feet were bare but fringed by badly hemmed trousers, soaked for a clear inch in blood.

Suddenly everything changed.

My peripheral vision seemed to shimmer and blink into blackness, the wondrous scent I had since identified as Carlisle's snapped out of my range. All could catch was the thick, glutinous scent of the blood, clinging to the boys cuffs - sickly sweet, but as the pain in my throat flared unbearably, I realised with an icy flush, that it was all I wanted in the world.

Vampires.

So what did that make me.

I was salivating, running my tongue around my mouth to catch the dripping secretions of whatever it was and strength flooded through my body like electricity tingling in my fingertips.

And before I could even pretend to understand whatever was happening to me, I was flying.

"Esme!" Carlisle roared, clashing with Edward's furious "Hey!" - and as instinct flooded my senses, rationality shut down.

The forest was barely there under my toes, and I surrendered myself to the scent I had caught on the breeze. Heavy and hot and pulsing, it drowned me, pulling and focusing every drop of my concentration. There was darkness and there was light, there were empty swathes of cold air and then there were patches soaked with the scent. I chased through the nothingness without thinking or breathing or any sort of consciousness - abandoned to instinct because after everything else, it was all I had.

Suddenly there was a jolting shock as someone grabbed onto my wrist - but in an instant I realised it was Carlisle, running alongside - and he was pulling me in another direction, away from the magnetic strings, irreversibly tugging me inwards -

"Esme, please!"

Something in his desperate tone cut through the red haze before my eyes and I glanced towards him for just a tiny fraction of a second - but that momentary distraction was all he needed, yanking on my arm. I obeyed blindly, too confused and thirsty to do anything else. The rawest, most basic part of me knew he wanted me to be free of this pain, and every pain, so I twisted my compass and forced myself away from the original scent, allowing him to pull me onto another path. Before a moment had passed I caught this new one, equally prevalent but without the strength, the stirring, melting, choking thickness of the first - something which would run through my fingers and rinse over my face like water and I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything.

It got darker as we charged back into the depth of the forest, but I could see every glimmer of every eye of every animal as it skittered away from the two ghosts streaking through their home like a fairytale. In perfect clarity, though I was running faster than I ever could have imagined - it was glorious. I hadn't been allowed to run like this as a child, hadn't permitted myself as a faking-make-believe member of civilised society and all of a sudden, in this deathly, perfect dream I was free as the air. Had I been more observant, I may have noticed how on every second footfall Carlisle would duck and fall behind for an instant before charging forward again, pushing every shard of energy into his limbs. He was stuttering in his run, and only now do I marvel.

When we burst into the path of some deer - there was no time for stealth, no time for anything - Carlisle had premeditated his attack. Open mouthed I saw four of them, dusty brown, sinewy legs and innocent, wide eyed confusion - then terror - as we burst through the trees. In a lunging pounce, ferocious in its accuracy, he leapt, my Carlisle - my ever present, impeccable doctor, with his collar pressed and his shoes polished - and it was a tumbling, flashing cascade of movement and scent and I couldn't cope with the clarity afforded by my own eyes.

I watched as he shot his arms around the neck of the biggest - the scratching, terrified whinnies and scrambling footfalls of the doe and the fawn with its big, pointed ears as they dashed off through the undergrowth - but Carlisle didn't blink, just twisted around to avoid the antlers on the buck as it thrashed and struggled. In an instant he had pulled it to the floor, one foot on its flank, and a blank, businesslike expression descended upon his features as he brought his hands to its neck and - this was the most surreal, inexplicable, unimaginable - in a swift motion, there was a loud crack and stillness.

My hand was over my mouth and my knees should have been shaking. Everything was crashing about me and just when I thought this couldn't get any stranger, any further removed from real life, without any hesitation at all he shifted, knelt by the carcass - the carcass - and lowered his face to its neck and -

"Carlisle-" I choked out but he didn't look up, just dipped and opened his mouth and I realised what he was going to do an instant before his teeth sank into its neck-

My god, what had I done? If this was my angel, and this was my fate, and this was the last ironic, cackling, stroke of some twisted deity -

There was a heavy tearing sound as he ripped its skin and its fur and its muscle, and then there was blood flooding over his hands . . .

It was like teetering on the edge of the cliff again, the lake beneath me singing of oblivion and salvation. But this time it was red. And just like that night, there wasn't an instant of hesitation or thought before my body pushed itself over the edge.

I was beside him in a flash and there was blood in my mouth and before I could register any feeling of horror I had swallowed and the relief was enough to chase every other thought away. For that moment, as it gushed down my throat, the pain subdued itself for long enough for me to clear my thoughts a little. But the warm, soothing floods were such a salve on the burn and I couldn't help but gulp down mouthful after mouthful, until I was sucking and gnawing at the last, dessicated drops.

The pain crept back into my throat, strong as it ever was. But I felt a little better for it.

Cold, repulsed horror settled in my heart, and I pulled myself a little distance away, collapsed on the dirty ground in a heap of bones and limbs. The blood was hot on my fingers, burning in stains around my mouth. I wiped it on the back of my hand, and couldn't help but to let my tongue swipe over the smudges in a miserable, surreptitious flick.

Carlisle was watching from a little way off, standing by the edge of the little clearing with his hands twisted together and his gaze closed and haunted. Whatever must he . . . whatever was he . . .

I couldn't make myself look up, but I heard as he walked around behind me, I felt the shift of the air as he folded his legs underneath himself to sit beside me.

There were fingers knotting in with my own which suddenly weren't quite as cold as I remembered and the moonlight was quite dazzling.

"Don't worry. We can go for more in a second if you want, it's quite easy once you-"

"No."

I didn't know what I was saying. The thirst had returned, as strong as the first time. Worse. Because I knew what I would have to do to sate it.

"You have to."

"What . . . what does this mean Carlisle?"

"It means forever."

He paused and I couldn't think.

"It means you're going to have to keep feeding on blood, but if we're careful then we can avoid humans. The thirst won't go away completely, but it will fade with time."

I twisted to look at him, open mouthed as things started coming back to me. How many times had I seen him with blood on his fingers, staining his white coat-

"I've never bitten a human before, except Edward. But it took a long time before I could stand to be around people, to work in the hospital."

"How long." I whispered.

"Two hundred years."

The matter of fact tone made my skin crawl and I wasn't quite sure why.

"And I won't force you to stay with me after the first year, when you can handle yourself. But I'm sorry, the next few months is going to be difficult."

I swallowed again, trying to smooth away the sudden spike of heat in my throat.

"Okay."

"I - I don't want you to feel-"

"Carlisle, don't."

Edward's voice shot through the dark in the forest. Carlisle turned to meet his eye as he wandered back towards us.

"Wait until she's calmed down." he said firmly, his face deadly serious. He was holding Carlisle's gaze so strongly it was a conversation in itself, but all he did was shrug expressionlessly.

I interjected quietly, because I was fearing for my own sanity.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Oh, of course, my apologies. This is Edward. The lies I told you so long ago aren't terribly far from the truth I suppose. I found him in Chicago a couple of years ago, the influenza epidemic."

He nodded at me, but didn't come any closer. Reserving judgment perhaps. I could certainly afford him that courtesy after turning up so suddenly, and in such a state . . .

Edward snorted and turned to wander off again.

"Don't be unkind." shot Carlisle. "Remember what you were like as a newborn."

"Well tell her then! And incidentally-" he turned his red eyes to me - "this has not been sudden, by any stretch of the imagination."

I was horribly confused for but a moment.

"Oh Esme . . . how to . . . just try to believe me for now and we can deal with it later. But sometimes our kind will carry exceptional abilities, something extraneous to the standard vampire skillset shall we say. I didn't. But Edward . . . Edward was reading your mind."

He seemed so terribly apologetic, it never - as it had never and never will - occurred to me to do anything but trust him implicitly. But I barely registered as panic seized me, and I tried to remember everything that had crossed my mind since I had opened my eyes - and of course I immediately found myself skimming over everything I would never want a soul to know-

"Don't bother. You and him have been broadcasting quite loudly for about a year now." he called, his voice twisted with exasperation as he left.

"Oh god." I muttered.

Carlisle shook his head and there was a decidedly awkward moment before he got to his feet again, indicating that I should do the same.

"Come on. Ignore him for the moment. You need to hunt, I'm not going to risk going back to the house until you've had a decent amount."

I should have shuddered at the implication. In the same way that people get itches on amputated limbs, my human self and my human instincts were still there in a ghostly sort of memory and it was quite horrible. But this new facade I was inhabiting just stepped beside him and looked up at his face for further instruction.

I had no idea what anything was any more so I was prepared to let the world do what it liked with me.

He didn't say anything, just took my hand again and we were running.

Now I had my thoughts about me a little more I noticed the careful way the trees seemed to part around me - or rather I around them - and the nimble little dodges and weaves in our path which I hadn't even registered. My head was spinning and my throat was hurting so I let the scents overwhelm me again. The crisp night air, the rain threatening in heavy, stormy notes, the plants and the animals and a fainter edge of woodsmoke from somewhere overhead. The thrill of power in my limbs was nothing short of exhilarating and for a moment I was quite certain I could run like this forever and be perfectly happy.

But when it happened it was far too fast for me to do anything else. It was like someone had struck a match, and the blood was all I could smell.

It was glorious, I can't even imagine how anything ever smelled as good as that poor soul did then. The scent shot straight to my head, thick and mesmerising and dripping with the promise I wanted to believe - that it would neutralise the burn in my throat entirely, forever. Because it was so beautifully composed, a song of treacle and lemongrass and tea and enticement. It smelled like euphoria. And he never should have stood a chance.

I leapt ahead of Carlisle, swerving in a perfectly executed sort of skid, and I was away before he could inhale and certainly before he could understand.

Later he told me the human must have been on horseback, galloping along, veering towards us quite suddenly - I hadn't heard the hoofbeats, but nor had I been listening.

He shouted and he screamed, but if I heard, I didn't listen. There were names (some were mine) there were threats, there were desperate exaltations and trembling accusations. There were footsteps as he hurtled across the forest, desperately trying to keep on my tail but failing miserably. Eventually, there was hopelessness and apology.

But all of a sudden something tore across my vision like a gunshot and we fell together until I was pinned to the ground by two unfamiliar hands and someone was straddling my chest and I couldn't move but to howl.

I snapped and shouted, desperately trying to tear my hands free to hit him but for all my thrashing he held firm thank God -

"Carlisle!" he shouted, fear edging his own voice. "Hurry up, I can't hold her much longer-"

My senses began to come back to me as the scent started to recede, and I realised the god-awful shrieking was tearing from my own throat - the sharp, scratching hands on my forearms pressed down harder as I tried to pull away and I moved to bite at the boy in a frenzy even I didn't understand. I barely recognised him, the red eyes the only thing I could see - they seemed plausibly to be possessed by some nightmare amalgamation of everyone who had ever seen fit to-

Suddenly there was a flash of fair hair and Carlisle was there above me, staring down with open mouthed horror- fresh fuel to my writhing, desperate attempts to throw the monster off me. When he scrambled down there was a flash of relief but then he was holding down my legs, touching my face like he was trying to scrape the scent off me and oh god what was this- a thousand ghosts of a thousand hands clawing at me like I'll never be lucky enough to forget.

I fought and I struggled but my guardians were made of iron and I was suffocating on my own terror until I didn't know where on earth I was. Edward's fingertips were staining purple bruises in clusters down my arms but I didn't care - through my sobs I tried to beg for Carlisle to move from my face, a grey-tinted whirlwind of memories of the last time I had been confined to the house for weeks on end because I had been stupid enough to acquire anything so conspicuous as a black eye, of how I had been punished for such a stupid mistake - how costly it had proved . . .

Distantly I heard Edward swear violently. There were a few quick, sharp words that I couldn't hear, like I was submerged in water, and then slowly, cautiously, the pressure began to drop until his palms were just skimming my body. With narrowed, concentrating eyes which seemed to be reflecting off the exploding colours of my thoughts, he shifted himself off me. Carlisle moved his grip to my shoulders, gentler now, but his features were blurring before my eyes.

I don't know what they expected me to do. I couldn't move for shaking, couldn't think for anything.

But the human had passed on by, without a care in the world.

{-}

By the time the sun was glimmering over the horizon he had taken me back to the house in Ashland. Perhaps that was for the best, maybe there was more he hadn't told me about my new body. I didn't trust myself not to scald in the sunlight.

But before, there had been blood and hurried explanations and chaotic fights between my body and my mind and my heart. And now I was alone for the first time and though I didn't quite trust myself to breathe, it was almost enough just to exist in stillness for a full minute.

He had dug through the boxes to find something for me to wear, an old shirt, some trousers. They lay at my feet in a crumpled heap, and I eyed them with something like distrust, hugging my arms around my stomach defensively. I took a moment to pull myself together a little. The grey nightdress had been stained with grass and mud and dew and blood and there were so many tears it was practically in tatters. But I was afraid of what I might find underneath.

There was enough darkness still outside that my reflection appeared perfectly in the window. But I had been through enough that night that it made the ghost of my heart jump in such a world weary way it almost wasn't worth the effort.

I had noticed how pale and smooth my hands had become, but it hadn't registered, in the grand scheme of things. But here I was confronted with a face so deathly white and so deathly beautiful that there was no denying anything any more.

My eyes were horrific. It was a shock seeing the bright red staining Edward's face, but when I looked and caught that demonic red staring back, it cracked through me like a knife.

This wasn't a dream or a fancy. This hurt. And there would be no going back.

Peeking furtively now I saw myself, but reimagined by an artist my mother would have hired, smoothing out ever inconsistency and painting over every blemish. I hadn't checked completely, but the scars I remembered on my arms, the burns and bruises - shard of glass, breadknife, cigarette - they had all vanished and I was flawless. Even my hair had gone from lank and uncared for to as thick and curly as it had been before I married. It looked odd tumbling around my face - the proportions and shapes I had been fighting into presentibility my whole life had been shifted by an almost imperceptible amount and it was the most wrenchingly disconcerting thing in the world. Somehow my neck was longer, my lips were fuller, the angles of my face shifted just enough to taunt. Even my tongue felt wrong in my mouth, my crooked teeth having shifted back into their designated places.

I was beautiful. Perhaps almost beautiful enough for Carlisle. But I wasn't entirely sure if I was the same person who had leapt from the cliff a few days previous.

My hands twisted together over my stomach but I almost didn't want to touch. I had been systematically destroyed over the past year. But here I was, made of ice and marble and all of a sudden I had my body to myself again, and it was awful. I was missing the most important part of what had been me, and I feared I would always miss it because every blush of my pregnancy had been dashed and it seemed like a sin to even wonder whether it was for the best.

In a flurry of movement to distract myself, avoiding my own eyes in the glass, I pulled on the new clothes. Except as my fingers caught on hips and bones and buttons, that fear grew into an icy rock in my throat and I wanted to be sick.

"No." said someone softly from the door. I whipped around as it eased open, froze still as Edward slipped a few inches into the room. "I'm sorry."

The sincerity in his words almost hurt more. And it took a moment to remember how he must have been on the other side of the door, plucking my thoughts half formed from my head.

Even so, I didn't try to hide as a part of me clenched and dissolved. Finally, possibility and potential had decided to stop mocking me and that was that.

"We're frozen. We will be this forever, your body can't change at all. And besides, everything in you has turned to venom. I'm sorry. I know how you . . ."

His words trailed off. I was envious somebody knew something about me for certain, that wasn't going to be destroyed with a long night or a strange man with glistening teeth I had never really noticed before.

There was a gentle breeze drifting through the window and I couldn't help but listen as it carried off every closely guarded daydream.

Edward moved to leave again, to at least pretend to let me think in solitude. But his hand caught on the door and he stopped, turned again.

"I'm sorry. But can I ask you something?"

I nodded carefully. I didn't think I had the answer to anything at that moment, but I was prepared to try. I wasn't quite expected what he eventually asked though, after a pause I was too exhausted to think about.

"Why don't you hate him?"

The question was like a slap in the face and I wasn't entirely sure why.

"I'm sorry?"

"I . . ." Edward frowned, pulling together his own thoughts. "You wanted to die. I heard you. And he's sentenced you to eternal life."

It was all so confusing, coming from every direction, that I wasn't sure what I thought really. But I tried to spool together an answer out of courtesy over anything else.

"I didn't want to die. But my life had got to a point where . . . it was irrational and I never expected this. But now I'm standing here I don't think I can bring myself to regret much."

I didn't realise any of it was true until it was falling out of my mouth, and it was almost a relief. I watched him process my words, his expression closed and guarded.

"Do you hate him?" I asked cautiously.

"No." he said quickly.

There was silence, but it was thoughtful.

"Can I ask you something?" I said, quietly but with more curiosity than was good for me.

He met my eyes again, waiting.

"Why are our eyes red and not his? Is he a different type of . . . vampire?"

I wondered how long it would take me to stop choking on the word. Edward just smiled.

"We're all different types of vampire. He's just better at it than we are."

He took a moment, and only now do I understand why it was difficult.

"Others of our kind - the vast majority - survive on human blood. They give in to the temptation you - and I - are currently struggling with. They're careful, they don't attract attention, but they kill. The human blood is what turns the eyes red. Yours are due to the residual blood in your own body. If you're careful and don't slip up, they'll fade to gold in about a year."

I let myself absorb this new knowledge.

"Did he turn you not so long ago?"

"No. A couple of years or so. But it's easy to stumble, it's a hard path to follow."

He averted his eyes for the first time, guilt colouring them darker. I felt chill creep into my bones. He had killed someone, and the frenzied bloodlust I had felt out there would have ended the same way.

"Not quite." he interrupted. "I mean, I have killed accidentally. Too many times. It's awful, having to live with that knowledge, but you'll find it easier than me - you only have your own thoughts to contend with. But recently, it wasn't exactly the blood. Although that did become his death warrant in the end."

He was talking in such casual enigmas about murder and I wondered if I would ever do the same.

"I doubt it Esme Platt. Because the only man you would ever want to kill, we took care of not too long ago."

{-}

The sun was high in the sky dripping spots of light through the leaves in the forest like rain. They scorched and glistened on my skin in patches of incandescence that made my breath catch in my throat and I didn't know what logic was any more. Carlisle was never more than a few inches away, watching me struggle with my thoughts with burning yellow eyes. We were basking in peace and quiet conversation and our secrets were falling away in the sunlight.

"Would you have told me?" I asked, watching a starling circle in lazy spirals overhead.

"Yes. I almost did, several times. But I thought you might run."

I nodded vaguely, trailing my fingertips along a treetrunk. It made sense, as much as sense could now. But I knew my own mind and I knew something else.

"I wouldn't have gone anywhere."

"Well."

I glanced at him as we wandered over a brook, but he still seemed troubled.

"Did you ever wonder though?" he burst out all of a sudden. "Did nothing . . . Edward says you . . . he said you had suspicions but you wouldn't consider them. But if you . . ."

It was quite unnerving, hearing him talk about my innermost thoughts in my darkest times without missing a beat. But I was still confused.

"Well yes. I suppose. You never changed. After a while, I found myself wondering if you weren't quite real. At first I was holding onto my own mind enough to wonder whether I'd imagined you. But later," (my God if I could blush I would be scarlet) "I thought maybe you were some kind of guardian angel. I don't know. Clearly I wasn't as far off the mark as I assumed, but certainly I never considered this."

I couldn't take my eyes off the ground, but the ground was more interesting than it every had been before, with every dewdrop singing its own little spectrum of light.

He stopped walking and opened his mouth, but suddenly he froze. We waited for a second in stillness, every thought suspended as we listened to the scampering pawprints of the handsome red fox that bounded across our path. It's bushy tail and bright, inquisitive eyes were utterly captivating for the tiniest fragment of a moment, but I smelled it before I saw it and the poor thing never really stood a chance.

My eyes narrowed, my senses locking in like the snap of a key. Carlisle faded to a soft, insignificant presence and then there was swift movement, and darkness, and bones in my mouth like brambles and it shrieked like a demon until my teeth had sliced through its throat in their quest. The blood flowed thick and fast and glorious and it was terrifying how wonderful it felt, sweeping over the razors in my throat until I could almost forget everything else.

When it was dry, I couldn't move, just let the beautiful russet fur slide between my fingers and fall to the ground in a crumpled puddle of colour and broken threads. Every drop of blood had settled in my body and the pain began to build in my throat again and clearly it was entirely useless even trying to chase it away.

Carlisle slipped his hand into mine and I turned to meet his eyes, slightly shamefaced. I opened my mouth to speak but in that moment his finger caught on the corner of my lip, wiping away a ruby-red chip of blood.

Somewhere in his eyes, there was regret. He looked at what he had made me, and I don't know what he thought.

Certainly I don't know what_ I _thought. At that moment, all I knew was that at first it had been jolting and quite upsetting when he had touched me. That wonderful, comforting coolness had been negated as my own blood froze in my veins. But now, that tiny brush of skin set a thousand nerve endings aflame and the heightened perceptions I had been granted were suddenly worth everything, infinitely.

I could smell him and see him and feel him in the same way he had always known me, my whole life. Yet somehow he could still stand to have me close. He wanted me closer.

There was a brief moment, when I'm sure he was thinking a thousand lines of poetry and science and beauty and I was as confused and happy as I ever had been. But then there were quiet, conspiratorial smiles alighting on our faces and he took my other hand and inclined his head in a curious, tentatively questioning sort of way. So I balanced on tiptoes and grinned right back and then he was kissing me and I was kissing him and finally everything was crashing together in a quiet little song of surrender.

As we melted into each other, we sealed our fate and our future and our forever and we finished what we couldn't start before. His hands were in my hair and it was suddenly completely silent in the forest, and I couldn't see anything for the thick, dizzying scents and sensations.

Edward swore a mile away, but I couldn't quite bring myself to care.

My thoughts were whirling in flurries and flutters of feeling, and as we broke apart, things began to tumble into place.

In Carlisle's eyes I saw the endless day stretching out ahead of me, and watching him think was the only way I could begin to comprehend the edges of our forever. The promises he had made, the promises he was going to make, truly boundless for the first time. And we had that forever to make everything work and it felt like I couldn't quite hold all that in one mind, so I borrowed from him in shades of crystal yellow.

Everything I had lost and everything I had gained.

And the most incomprehensible part.

He had wanted me for his forever and I loved him and we had that all to ourselves.

He pulled me back into his arms for a long moment, nuzzling at the cold white scars on my neck he had gifted me with so carefully.

"I love you." he muttered into my ear, so quietly I had to believe it. But it didn't seem like such a tumultuous, cataclysmic statement any more, because now I realised it had been there for longer than I dared remember. Silent, dancing between our fingertips. But still.

"Thank God for that. I love you too."

The day was warm and his smile was warmer and our own little piece of eternity was waiting under our feet.

_**A/N **- Any thoughts on this chapter would be very gratefully appreciated thanks!_


	29. Chapter 29

_**Which Keeps the Stars Apart**_

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

Everything fell into place remarkably quickly. There were trips and stumbles and moments of the rawest, most exhausting frustration, but then there was music in his laughter and the disbelieving, delighted lurch in my thoughts every time I remembered that this all so entirely _real_.

First Carlisle wrote to the hospital and advised them of his resignation, effective immediately. Then we stayed in Ashland for as long as we could stand it, fighting through logistics and bloodlust as hard as we could. I learned and I accepted and I never ran.

It was difficult not to be overwhelmed at first, and utterly exhausting trying to surpress my thoughts whenever Edward was around. But I threw myself into it because what else could I do? There was nothing else I would have wanted. Desperately I tried to understand everything it had taken Carlisle two centuries to learn, but the more I knew the more I wanted to know. It was terrifying at first, every new piece of physiology or mythology or purest conjecture, but it helped.

That isn't to say I wasn't happy. Because I was. With the most achingly genuine sort of contentness I had ever felt, because somehow, it had all worked out. Not exactly how I had planned it, but in so many ways, a thousand times better. And I had no right to even consider being sorry. Or to wonder whether the clawing urges, pulling at my every thought and feeling, would ever be penance enough.

We moved on as soon as I was clear to make the journey. We were dreaming of somewhere further north, somewhere as different from Ohio as possible. Both of us wanted to run from the crushing heat and endless farmland and the memories too-heavy on the breeze. Instead he told me about snow and mountains and thunderstorms and air so bitingly fresh it stung and in long, quiet nights, we painted our future in the air.

The logistical side wan't too difficult. Carlisle didn't even need to set up a story back home - Charles' vanishing act and the two empty houses we had left, spoke loudly enough for themselves. That last night he mentioned that it wasn't exactly the quiet, anonymous disappearance he preferred to choreograph. But I think it worked out for the best. Everyone I had known would be able to draw their own happy conclusions, colour their own versions of our mutual escape. Because Edward mentioned something to me recently: that we had been noticed by more people than either Carlisle or I had realised. Elderly women sharing second hand gossip, watching and hoping and praying silently for the lonely doctor and the quiet young woman with the war-torn eyes.

{-}

On the hunt as a pack, often the seperate minds would work as one entity - thinking and moving and breathing in perfect synchronisation. Edward and Carlisle had perfected this long ago and I slipped in with new, razor sharp instincts and sheer desperation to get everything right. It felt fluid, natural. So when our footfalls skittered in time with each other, when we swerved around an obstacle like water, I couldn't help but feel that this may have been what had been intended all along. That I might absolve some of my guilt by pinning it all on fate.

We made a brief stopover at our old home, just to grab some things. I resisted the urge to set light to my old house; although the windows were broken and the valuables had vanished and I'm sure someone would eventually take care of it for me. Instead I hurried in, piled an armful of clothes into a case, snatched my tin of letters from under the panel in the linen cupboard. And after a quick second to look - darkness, impossible echoes, a catch in my throat - I fled.

We went into our new hometown, not as a collection of disparate individuals, but as a family. Edward Masen became my brother and I adopted Carlisle's surname without ceremony. There were rings but there was no discussion. And somehow, once circumstance had thrown us together, we began to fit.

However I do credit the piano with much of that newfound tolerance. Someone had left one in the house we had hastily procured and I was delighted - with my mind so sharp and my fingers so quick I could play a thousand times better than I ever could have dreamed before. And of course I simply could - there wasn't a damn thing in the world stopping me forcing as much music as I could from the little thing, clashing and chiming so wonderfully loud. But I was never better than mediocre - and it took him a few weeks, but eventually the temptation of the keys was too much. He crept up to it one afternoon, skittering his fingers over the top just to see if he could make it work. And then, probably the first thing he ever asked of me, tentative as anything.

"Could you show me?"

It took twenty minutes to wring every last scrap of musical knowledge from me, and within the hour he was playing with his eyes half closed, dreamy and unguarded and I think he forgot we were there. And he didn't stop. So we sat and we listened and it was beautiful and I think that was the first time the prickly sort of edges seemed to soften and fade.

Quickly, we fell into a routine. Carlisle found a job: the hospital revered him. Every night he brought home sheet music and conversation and a smile so sincere it cracked my heart every time. We basked in freedom and company and the simple absence of secrets. Sometimes I asked him about his old life - in England, in Italy, in Chicago - and sometimes he asked about mine. But mostly, we looked forward, and our life together seemed so infinitely greater than the sum of its parts.

Edward was mostly quiet. But during the long, lonely times when Carlisle was away, he lurked about the house, glancing at me occasionally. At first I thought he remained under Carlisle's orders, to keep me from slipping on a particularly bloodthirsty afternoon. But when he got back from the hospital, he denied asking Edward to do anything of the sort. Speculated (knowing full well that he could hear) that perhaps he was just trying to understand me from the inside out. And that maybe he should just ask and save himself the trouble.

So the next day, he did. We talked a little. I found out about his human life and his newborn years in exchange for explaining every stray thought that had ever confused him. We had more in common than either of us realised. Mostly the terror of sheer inadequecy, fear of our own vicious cravings and ugly thoughts next to Carlisle. But soon we had moved on to all manner of things, and I began to acquaint myself with the methods of discourse with a mindreader. It got easier.

_(and there was just one night when I found myself sobbing hysterically over a body in the woods with blood staining my dress in slashes of red and he chased me down by the beacon of my panic and there were unfamiliar arms around my neck and soothing trembling murmers and a thousand careful promises not to tell)_

But mostly, it was seamless.

_**A/N **__- Reviews mean the world, please drop a few words in the comment box! That said, apologies for this being such a "fill in the gaps" sort of chapter for want of a better word - it wasn't meant to be here and then it had to be and then it got written in a fit of procrastination and then I posted it. Such is life. _

_Thanks for reading, as ever! There will be one more chapter I think. :)_


	30. Chapter 30

**_Which Keeps The Stars Apart_**

_Clarissa Rose_

_Esme_

Inevitability is the wrong word. That seems to suggest a trap, looming on the horizon in some inescapable, undefined sort of horror - but simply to say I knew it was coming is wrong as well, that sounds too comfortable, too contrived and easy in an overwraught-fairy-tale sort of way. Instead, it simply was what it was. It was us.

March, I think - at least, the spring was just melting the frost away, the birds were starting to return and my eyes had softened into a warm, amber sort of colour. Carlisle had come home from the hospital and made a great show of slamming the door and stomping up the stairs- an entirely pointless gesture, since my eyes had frozen on the page I was reading since he reached the garden gate. Curiosity only began to stir however, when the piano which had been swimming through the house for an hour faltered and stuttered and died in a most unelegant and un-Edward-like way. The spark of thoughts in the air had shifted and sharpened, but it wasn't language I could understand, so I paused thoughtfully, but I left them to their scheming. And when there was a nervous knock at the door and hurried, tumbling question, I laughed and I laughed in a flurry of kisses and I said yesyesyes.

I got a little twitchy when Carlisle started to fuss about the wedding - old friends and new friends and flowers and dresses and an edge of extravagance which made me nervous as anything. But Edward felt the discord in every lie I let slip, and it wasn't long before Carlisle was reminded, mysteriously, of one of the few memories which had lodged itself crystal sharp in my vampire mind. Swathes of tulle and taffeta and corset boning so tight I couldn't breathe, hairpins like needles and blank, poisonous terror drenched in the scent of roses. A shadowy hand crushing my fingers and pledging our life together and seeping through my soul. And then that was that and he was who he was and although it should have been easy to seperate my Carlisle from that time, I couldn't. Despite my best efforts, he was too far ingrained, twisted within every unhappy memory too deeply for me to ever untangle entirely.

Within an hour of that quiet word with Edward, Carlisle had dissolved every plan and invitation and within two he was at my door again with a bunch of daisies and a pair of rings. Another twenty minutes of dashing about for a comb and a pair of shoes that matched and we were flying out of the house, hand in hand, Edward following more sedately with a tentative smile playing at his features, as happy as I'd ever seen him.

When we married, there was a ladder in my stockings and a button missing on Carlisle's shirt. We were breathless and giddy and hopelessly lost in whatever it was. Edward was standing by our side. And as we spoke, all I saw were his golden eyes through my own, finally faded by willpower and love, and I felt oddly triumphant because finally I was fit to stand by his side as his equal. It was with that thought and nothing else that I signed my own lonely life away for good.

The sun was damningly high that day, so we flitted through the shadows back home. It had become second nature - one of the many things that had. Repelling the constant threat of temptation, I was doing without a thought. Catching my breath as I walked through the town, ducking to hide in the dark alleyways, slipping my hand into Carlisle's whenever someone crept too close. Slipping my hand into Carlisle's whatever was happening, walking in step and catching his gaze and feeling our scents singing in time. It was normal now, although I swore it never would be. It was my life.

When we got home that afternoon he dashed off for a moment before returning with a brown-paper package with all the stamps and our address still on. He pressed it into my hands without meeting my eyes and wordlessly I pulled apart the packaging to find a plain black box. Inside, nestled among a scrunch of black velvet was a bangle, thick dark silver wrought into twists, emblazoned with an image I could have drawn from memory. First the ring on his finger which he had worn since forever, then the same as Edward's leather band - then old sketches in older photo albums, a heavy, ancient painting of some middle aged Cullen with bright blue eyes, a lone earring he had ascribed to his mother when I asked - it was his, somehow, and now he was presenting it to me and I didn't know what to say except thank you. But he knew what I wanted to tell him and I believe there was music and it was a singularly lovely afternoon.

{-}

When I remember those early years I remember blood - every happy memory is halfway ruined by the pain and the guilt of those times when it had overwhelmed me. But the halves which remain intanct are fraught with magic, tense and knotted with happiness so strong and unfamiliar it hurt. I worked hard to fight those instincts down and occasionally I found it in myself to be proud of what I had achieved. I realised being proud of not ripping someone limb from limb wasn't exactly something I would have been comfortable with just a few years before, but I didn't really care all that much.

It all changed the first time we lost Edward though. Neither of us had seen it coming and it was like the world had been pulled out from under our feet. I hated myself, that I might have pushed him away like this and hated that I hadn't seen it. I hated what it was doing to Carlisle. He hated what it was doing to me and I hated that he had to waste a thought on that. It was a desperately hard time and it was all we could do to muddle through it, but we had both weathered worse alone and now it was different. We had one another to scream at and to blame and to love and to comfort, to panic and to cry with and to hold through every long and silent night.

When he slipped back through the door, everything fell away in the stillness and I don't know what he read in our minds but he stepped straight back into our arms without hesitating. I sobbed and he sobbed and we couldn't find words but he almost suffocated on the choking waves of our delight and it was enough.

Because really, in the short time we had co-existed, our heart, our mind and our soul had divided and come to settle in three seperate bodies. When one of those had been torn away, it had been unbearable for everyone and I hadn't noticed it hurting until it stopped. As I watched the fury and the shame fade from Edward's eyes I think he realised it as well. He said sorry to Carlisle and to me and to both of us together and we told him to forget it - but we didn't. Now we knew what we stood to lose and we swore never to lose it again.

After that, there were no secrets. There was beauty and there was life and I burnt my letters and tried my hardest. We watched a lot of sunsets and danced under a lot of stars, and it went on with sparkling eyes and the dreams of three souls bound together by fate.

It wasn't the happily ever after I had pictured all those naive years ago. But it was happy and it was real, and finally it was ours.

{-}

_**A/N**__ - I struggled finishing this, and I apologise for the delay. It's not quite what I imagined it would be, because eventually I just had to sit down and force myself to end the bloody thing, but I hope you won't judge me for being slightly unwilling to let go. I__t really has become a tremendous part of my life over the last however-long, and for all the flaws I see in every third word I'm kind of proud I found the guts to put something on the internet because I have learnt _so much _from this it's unbelievable. _

_I want to take this opportunity to thank every single reviewer from the bottom of my heart - every kind word, inarticulate squeal or "WTF?" has helped me and inspired me and reminded me that I need to get the hell on with it. Thank you so so much to those who have stuck by me from the very beginning and to everyone who has been lovely enough to comment because it really does make all the difference in the world. I think I'll be back in the fanfiction universe at some undetermined point in the future, and I can only hope for a readership as nice as you all next time around. :)_

_As a parting note, I want to just mention something quickly - if this story has touched you in any way at all, moved you, perhaps made you sniffle a bit (I live in hope) - I've put two links in my profile. One will take you to Refuge, a domestic violence charity, the other to Bliss who work to help premature babies. Because I have had to research some truly upsetting things for the sake of realism, and it's a precious few who ever find a Carlisle - if anyone feels moved to give anything to these causes, or something similar for whereever you're from, I will feel justified in the time and love I've poured into this story. _

_Thank you again for reading, and sharing this journey with me (and Esme) and I'll see you all again soon(ish)!_

_Clarissa xxx_


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